Stalker
by Cliscia
Summary: Malik wakes to find himself in the slums of the city, bound and blindfolded. Completely at his captor's mercy, he will do anything to go home. Follows Malik's attempts to save his mind, and how his psyche deteriorates as he does so. AU. Complete.
1. Chapter o1

**Forward:**

**I started writing this 6 years ago when I was 14. I did not expect the love and recognition it got. At first it started out just as a small story of my OTP to sate my abduction kinks, but it became something much more. It's been years since this story has ended, but I hope you new readers enjoy it and take something from it. Over the years I've grown as a writer, and looking back on my old work is very strange... Sometimes I think of deleting this and rewriting it, but I think I'll leave it how it is. Flaws and all. I have so many memories surrounding this story and rewriting it, even if it would be an improvement, would be a shame. So I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it so many years ago. Long live bronzeshipping.**

* * *

Malik shivered, drawing the warm blue jacket of his school uniform closer around himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in a sad attempt to become warmer. His teeth chattered, feeling lonely and dejected from walking home alone from school in the horrible winter weather that plagued him every year since moving to America. Heat, he could stand. After all, he was raised with its sweltering feeling. But the biting, chilling winds of cold he could not. And snow was, in his opinion, quite truly the white death. Pausing to tighten his jacket even more around his slim frame, Malik frowned at the sign blocking his path.

Construction had been booming on his little street where his apartment was perched, but he'd never thought it would be large enough or a big enough deal to close off the south street that was adjacent to theirs. But apparently it was. Letting out a frustrated growl, Malik shuffled his feet, changing his course and began trudging down a smaller road that wound around, taking its good sweet time to finally connect to his street. His mood worsening by the minute, Malik cursed nonsense under his breath softly at the inconvenience. This 'little' detour would not only take him into one of the worse parts of the neighborhood, but would also take twice as long. Completely-fucking-brilliant.

And Malik gulped, shivering once again, but this time, not from the cold. It was true that he did not exactly live in the best part of town, the suburbs only a far off dream to wish upon when one saw a shooting star. But then again, shooting stars were only pieces of space junk that explode when hitting the Earth's atmosphere, creating a beautiful spark of light. Its name was just a disguise for it's dull and unexciting actuality.

'_Just like my life_,' Malik thought, begrudgingly,' _it's just one big old lie_.'

His thoughts trailing off onto different things, Malik hardly noticed the increasing slums of his surroundings, choosing to block it out in favor of more pessimistic thoughts. It wasn't until the tip of his ragged tennis shoe caught a hole in the sidewalk, causing him to stumble and fall most gracefully onto his ass, did he notice that his depressing thoughts had brought him farther into the dark corners and alleys of the neighborhood.

Shifting slightly, he rubbed his backside, grimacing at the bruise he had some how achieved in his clumsy performance. And then glancing up, Malik's heart raced a little faster, finally coming to terms with his predicament. Like the poorly written sob story of his life, his day becoming increasingly worse, Malik had somehow, miraculously, gotten himself completely and utterly lost. Scowling to hide his fear of becoming lost, Malik stood back up shakily, still sore from his close encounter with the ground, picking up his bag and swinging it back over his shoulder. He frowned, scanning the area to see where exactly he had come from, where he could go from here, and where exactly 'here' was.

The walls of ramshackle apartments and buildings on either sides of him seemed to lean over. They cast shadows across his slim form, creating an allusion of being caged, and a distinct feeling of claustrophobia. Gulping for the second time that day, the blonde jumped, swiveling around when something in the alley clanged, letting his mask of courage drop.

A tin lid of a trashed can swiveled in place on the ground. Malik sighed (once again!), thankful that his fears only reached so far to the din the metal had made. Probably only a cat... Feeling less on edge at his self-reassurance, Malik turned around, only to bump into something very much solid and, well, unexpected.

Malik's lavender gaze slowly drifted upward from the filthy concrete, up a chest covered in filthy rags, to finally, a grizzly and grungy face. A face, which he really couldn't help noticing, in desperate need of a razor and a nice supply of facial wash.

Frozen to the spot (Malik was never one for hobos, especially not in this part of town, where the man could easily kill and rob him), Malik stared at the man for a long while, a little lump of something coming up to rest in his throat, waiting for the other to address him and not just stare at his gold ring and neck ornament. He rubbed his hand, fingers grazing over the smooth metal in nervousness.

"Hey kid," the voice matched the man's appearance quite well. Gruff and croaky, "Mind if I look at that pretty jewelry you're wearin' ?"

And when the dark and filthy hands raised themselves up to lightly touch his neck piece, Malik ran, not wanting to humor the bum any more. All he wanted was to put as much distance between him and the dark alleys and the man within them.

Gasping for breath, Malik wheezed as he continued to run from the labyrinth of alleys, not seeming to make any progress. Choking, he gulped for air, the winter chill making it hard to let the god-be-praised-air into his lungs. His feet continued to make contact with the ground, running still at full speed, and Malik started to worry. He was hopelessly lost now, the encounter with the beggar and the flight from him making him even more astray and disoriented than he had been before.

His legs finally collapsing on him, Malik dropped to the ground for the second time that day, gasping for well needed breath. He started to sniffle quietly, hating himself for his girlish emotions, but the feeling of depression and everything that had happened caught up to him, and he allowed himself then to cry quietly in the dark and dingy crevices of the back street. Rubbing his arm across his nose and face, he sighed, feeling a little better from releasing all of his pent up emotions, and he began to reflect why, exactly, he was stuck and confused in this horrible place.

Malik had grown up not exactly well, but not exactly terribly. Despite his complaints and temper tantrums of not being able to join other children of his age, Malik was home schooled often by his sister Isis. His father was a sorry excuse for a man, his state of mind and temper often changed on a whim, and he often opted to drinking himself into a stupor at one of the local bars instead of attempting to raise his children. Isis, the perfect and all holy wonderful sister, often took on that job. Malik was grateful, he supposed, though he rarely admitted it.

Malik's mother died shortly after his birth. Something had gone wrong while she had delivered him, and through his hate and anger at this, Malik's father blamed it on him for her death. Rishid, his adopted brother, and Isis tried once and twice again to veer their father from his out of control rage, but it did no good, and Malik was abused throughout the time he had known the man. Luckily though his father had died ironically enough from alcohol overdose. Isis had proven herself to be mature and competent enough to raise Malik herself, and although she was only twenty at the time, all legal and residential ownership was handed over to her.

Wanting to leave Egypt as quick as possible, Isis arranged to use some of the very little amount of money left over from their father's drinking spree to move to America, the land of opportunity, where she hoped for them to start over a new life and forget about all that had happened before. Isis had contemplated moving to Japan as well but had later changed her mind due to the population and the fact that it was an island. None of them in their family were very keen of water, not knowing how to swim, and just the knowledge of living on such a small country surrounded by water frightened her. (Though, she wouldn't listen to Malik's reasoning that EVERY country was surrounded by water.)

Although Isis had wanted and imagined a life better off than the one they had lived in Egypt, it had not started out that way, and they were currently struggling to make ends meet in their small apartment on Treaty Boulevard. Isis, with her job as a manager of creative activity at their city's local museum, and Rishid as a mechanic (he did not have the luxury of proper education, but had quite the knack at machinery), brought in little money, which was sucked up by rent, utilities, groceries, and Malik's own continuing education. Although he felt bad for not having a job, Isis stressed him to not go to work, and to keep his head in his studies. So far she had done at keeping him focused, for he no longer got in the fights he used to back in their hometown. In fact, he would be quite the perfect child that he imagined his father always wanted...

And so here he was, cold, scared, and bruised in a run down excuse for a neighborhood, sitting and crying on the pavement. Looking into his lap, Malik-

"Help me!"

And Malik paused, his head jerking up and his heart rate increasing, clutching his coat out of habit and pulling it closer. No way could it be the same hobo.

"Help me, please!"

The voice was faint, and far away, it's sound drifting through the air current and wrapping around him, enticing him to ignore any inhibitions he had to go see what, or whoever the voice was, the voice needed help with. It's voice began to increase in volume and desperation when Malik did not reply.

"Help me, please! I can't get out!"

"Who...who's there!?" Silently cursing himself for his slight stutter, Maik stood up, turning around twice, trying to figure where the voice was coming from.

"Oh-oh! Somebody's there!" it seemed to get excited, and Malik could almost imagine the person jumping for joy and clapping, not unlike a child. ...Although, that seemed highly unlikely. "If- if you're there, I'm in the gray building! The one next to the brick one!"

He paused, looking for the 'gray building next to the brick one,' feeling foolish when he realized he had been standing in front of it the whole time. Cupping his hands, he called out to them. "I'm here, what's wrong?" No matter what a bad mood he had been in, Malik could not leave a person in trouble. Never did he imagine that the person could have a more malicious intent and would want to harm him...

"The building, I was cleaning it out for the company that used to work here, and a beam fell down blocking the door! All I need is you to push the door a little...I think I can get it from there."

It did seem iffy; the building looked old and used. Not a place a company would want to use, especially in this part of town. But Malik listened to their story and found the back entrance, jiggling the handle a little too see if it was locked. It moved, and he pushed it open, feeling the door swing open as he stepped inside the dim and dusty old building. Confused at it's easy opening, he called out into the abandoned room.

"I think I got it, but I don't see any b-"

Malik's words were cut short as he felt something crashing down upon his skull, not even having the time to scream or see the person standing above him before he fell unconscious onto the cold and rough floor. Nor did he hear the voice chuckle softly.

"It seems I've found my savior."


	2. Chapter o2

It was odd, Malik thought, to wake up warm. Such a sharp contrast to the weather they'd been having recently. But the thought wasn't dwelt on much as he sighed contently, just grateful for not feeling cold. This morning was one of the ones Malik never wished to end, to never wake up and just pretend for a while that his family had all that they could want and he, himself, was a rich and pampered high-class citizen.

Malik laughed softly at this, smiling and raising his hands above his head to stretch and turn onto his side. Or, at least, that's what he would of done if he had been able to move his arms. His heart skipping a beat for a second, he began to panic, before calming himself and reasoning that he always got tangled in his blankets. Another laugh on his part (though admittedly, more nervous than the last) and Malik resumed his day dreams.

He would laze in bed all day (for he was wealthy! And what responsibilities did the wealthy have to carry out that generations past hadn't already done? Likely none, since money was no problem...), only venturing out of his room to roam about, maybe explore the huge manor or chat with one of his many maids. And then, of course, Malik would get bored, taking his most prized ride out of the garage to drive as far as he wanted. Because being affluent, he wouldn't need to worry about school. And only when homesickness called him, would Malik return home. ...For a while, anyway. No matter how much money he had, he knew he would always travel.

Only with resentment of reality did Malik begrudgingly open his eyes, knowing that he didn't have all day to lie around in bed and day dream. What he'd give for his dream, too. Grumbling a little, he was surprised when his vision met black, expecting his eyes to be bombarded with the light of morning. Confused, he blinked a couple of times, just noticing the feeling of fabric over his eyelids. Lifting an arm up to rub his eyes, Malik's heart really did stop then. He really couldn't move his arms, the rough feeling of rope constricting them behind his back. He couldn't open his eyes, no doubtably a blindfold covering them. But, what...-

And then realization hit, and Malik almost screamed in horror. Oh, of all the times Isis told him to never talk to strangers...of all the stupid-! He... he had to get away, from whoever (or whatever) was holding him captive. Malik needed to get back home, to Isis, to Rishid, to everything he had. He had to get away from whoever was insane enough to kidnap a complete stranger. He had to! He had to, he had to!

Panic starting to take over, Malik had to hold in the feeling of growing terror, gulping it down and suppressing it into a tiny corner of his mind. Panic wasn't a solution, and if he truly was in a situation as dangerous as he perceived, it would help none if he let it cloud his mind. He needed to think calmly, as rationally as possible to get out and survive this situation. Calmly and rationally, calmly and rationally, calmly and rationally...

The mantra was repeated over and over, Malik all the while taking deep breaths too soothe his heart rate(which didn't seem to help, as it was beating faster than ever). Feeling slightly less hysterical, Malik reasoned with himself. ...If he truly was being held hostage, then his captor would be around, and, a disturbing thought, possibly in the same room he was in now. And if they (He? She?) weren't, then they were both stupid as they were insane. A sudden burst of courage, and Malik hardly regretted opening his mouth.

"H-hello? If...if there is someone there, I-"

"I took the task of warming you, boy, so be grateful that you have a blanket now. Didn't your mother ever tell you to take a sweater out when it turns cold? And no, that flimsy excuse for a jacket is no where near acceptable."

Malik felt put off slightly through it all, that his kidnapper did not address him, skipping all the way to chastisement. Ignoring the danger he was in (as boys generally do), he opted for sarcasm, it being the only way to hide his fear of what was really happening.

"Too bad, seeing I don't even have a mom." He truly was going to dig a deeper, and deeper hole for himself.

Sharp laughter, and Malik decided right then and there that the voice was male, low and baritone. The voice from earlier was higher; most likely a disguise.

"Silly boy, everyone has a mother, whether or not you want to accept this is your choice, but the facts remain the same."

"The only thing left of me to recognize are the bugs at her grave-hardly a substitute for what you want me to 'accept'." He might as well jump in right now.

"Pity…although, pity isn't going to do much for you now." And then something distinctly to the right scraped against the floor, making a harsh screeching sound, almost like a chair being pushed away.

This sharp action returned Malik to his former terror, freezing up at realization of how close the man actually was to him. So close, he could almost imagine, that he could reach out and strangle him at any time. Holding his breath, he began to shake, absolutely petrified at what fate would befall upon him. The way he had spoken, he would surely die. Maybe by gunpoint. A knife, maybe. Or perhaps his abductor was creative, and already had a more gruesome death in store for him. In any case, he screamed when a hand touched the side of his face.

Thrashing from side to side, he continued to shriek even when that same hand covered his mouth. Tears streaming from the sides of his blindfolded eyes, he was too scared to be humiliated at his behavior. He was going to die... he was going to die! Isis...Oh Isis, she wouldn't know what had happened to him. First their mother, their father, and then Malik? Although she was strong, Malik knew that so much close death would affect her. And even with the expenses of his life gone, they would still struggle for money. Everything would crash and burn. Everything. Everything was over...Everything!

Malik continued to fight, a last attempt at resistance before he died. Rather die a hero, than a coward... And he only paused when the man spoke again, surprised that death did not immediately fall upon him.

"Sss-ssh, if you continue to scream like that, maybe I really will slit that pretty little throat of yours." He paused, seeming to muse over what he had said, his other hand coming in contact with his hair, playing with it gently-like it would somehow calm his fear, "But I don't have any intention of killing you, boy, so I'll wait as long as it takes you to calm down." It was a sad, sad attempt at comfort, but Malik was instantly relieved that he was not going to die...yet.

His resistance calmed somewhat, and he began to hyperventilate to keep his breaths coming. Malik squeezed his eyes shut, not having anything else to than cry quietly and tell himself over and over that 'it will be okay, I will not die,' even though he knew full well that nothing would be okay. This was not for ransom-what money did his family have to offer for his safe return?-and all though he didn't know the reasons behind his captor's actions, he did know that it would reap something horrible on him. Truly, he was doomed. Doomed to a life that would be as short lived as his hope that this was, in fact, for ransom. Well, at least the man would get no satisfaction from killing an impoverished person like him.

The bed he was sitting on creaked loudly, and he felt weight behind him. "Very good. See? You learn quickly. Now as long as you stay quiet, I won't have to resort to gagging you." Learn...?

"Now, I have some...questions for you, boy. And you will answer them without question. Understand?"

"Y-yes." He gulped, feeling wary from the 'gagging' comment. Might as well use his voice for as long for he had. However long that was...

Malik almost felt the man sitting behind him smile as he fiddled with the ropes restricting his naturally dark arms, making Malik very uncomfortable and uneasy.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Good once again. Now...your family. They are...who all is in your family?"

"N-none. It's just me and my sister and my step brother." Damn his constant stuttering to hell. And although it wasn't wise, he felt the need to tell this person everything. There was no telling how dangerous they were, and if they found out later that he had kept some information untold, well...he didn't really want to think about that any more.

"None? No cousins, aunts, uncles, or distant relatives? No nieces or nephews?" He seemed to think this funny, for whatever reason (he was insane, after all he - had to be!), and started laughing once again. It was unnerving how much this man could laugh, but maybe laughter wasn't the right word. Laughter, defined by 'an expression of merriment or amusement,' was not cold and mocking. The closest thing Malik could come to explaining his laughter, was humor in the form of mocking sarcasm.

"You're completely alone...you're completely alone! Nobody is left! You're completely alone! Completely alone!"

He frowned. The way the man repeated himself over and over was annoying, even though he knew shouldn't be thinking like that. After all, his life rested in his hands.

"If it's okay for you now, either hurry up and ask me whatever questions you have, or let me go. Either way, it's better than repeating yourself."

The man laughed, pulling Malik to his chest, making him yelp. Crazy, he had to be crazy!

"Oh Malik, you're in no position to tell me what to do. After all, you have no one there for you. You're completely mine! So I suggest you keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut."

"You...how do you know my name!?! Fucking shit, I don't belong to anybody, you psycho! D-don't you dare touch me!" He screamed hysterically when he felt the man's hand rub his thigh. There was no way this was happening. Absolutely no fucking way.

"Oh, there's much more to you that I know than your name, Malik." Malik breathed rapidly as he felt the man lean over his shoulder to whisper behind his ear. This was crazy. This was horribly insane. It had to be a nightmare. Oh god, let it be a nightmare.

"I-I don't know what you want, hell, I don't even know who you are. But p-please, just let me go. Please, I beg you with my very life to take off this blindfold and release me. I'll do anything, anything for you to let me go. What do you want? I'll do anything! Just...! Oh god, please!"

"I'm sorry, little Malik, but that's not going to happen. I've gone through to many lengths to get you here, and I'm not just going to let you go like that. But, I can do one thing for you." It was no way at all reassuring that when he began to sob desperately for pity that the man hugged him tightly, feeling no restrictions at all when he began to gently stroke the side of his face. Did the man mistake him for a girl? That thought alone made him furious.

And then the pressure was removed and he felt the blindfold slip, his eyes still squeezed shut-to scared to open them to see what would await them.

"Come on, open your eyes. I had the decency to grant you your wish; you might as well take what I have given to you."

Almost timidly he opened his eyes, blinking and turning his head to the side when his vision finally met light. A few more blinks and he was finally exposed to the hell hole that he was forced into.

The walls were dark, a dingy brown color, stained with god-knows-what, bare of any decoration, and beyond the point of cleanliness. The rest of the room was hardly a change, only a few pieces of furniture littering the room here and there. A lamp sat on the floor, the cord from it clearly visible as it lit the room, giving off an ugly yellow glow. With no window in sight, there was no way to tell what time it was. Where...was this? Then there was only one thing left to see, and the one thing that he was to scared to face.

And then, as if to encourage him, the man rubbed the side of his face, turning it slightly to the wall. Taking a deep breath, he gulped in the air like a life force and turned around the rest of the way to meet his captor, only to gasp in surprise at the man's appearance. Because in all honesty, the man looked almost exactly like he did. Save for unnaturally spiked hair, the only difference he could tell was their age gap and the way his eyes seemed to lack life.

"Y-you...Fucking hell." letting go of the air he had held, he exhaled sharply and began to laugh. There was absolutely nothing funny about the situation, but his nerves bubbled up to the top, spewing out in laughter that would not stop. This was so fucking...messed up. "Fucking hell, what? Are you trying to...mock me?" The man frowned, staring intently at him, his gaze unnerving him greatly.

"I'm hardly mocking you, Malik."

"So you're, and I'm just getting this straight, telling me that the very person who kidnapped me looks exactly the same as me as well?"  
"I can not help my appearance, boy, but I can tell you that you will never speak to me like you are now."

Malik stared transfixed as the other spoke softly, his words meaning the opposite. It was truly scary how similar they looked, and oddly enough, he took comfort in the familiarity of his appearance. But this man was no where near familiar, and he was just as terrified as before, if not even more on-edge. Maybe this really was just a dream. A very lifelike dream, where he could scream himself hoarse and no one would come to his rescue except the very person who caused him turmoil. What a laughable idea that was.

He literally jumped when a bang was heard on the door, not expecting anybody else to be where...wherever he was. The banging continued and his captor growled, gripping tightly on his arm making him grimace.

"What?!" His voice was very annoyed at being interrupted. Malik was just glad that attention was finally being taken away from him.

"Mariku, we need to go. I don't know how long you intended to stay here, but we have to go now." The other voice was just as impatient and grouchy, and Malik caught a hint of an accent, but could not place it for the life of him.

"Fine." The word was growled out, and the other person left, footsteps disappearing down a hall on the other side of the locked door. (or at least he assumed it to be locked) "So sorry, Malik, but we will be able to talk when we have more time. But for now, I'm afraid you have to sleep again. Don't worry, though. When you wake up, you won't ever have to worry about time again." A twisted smile on the other's part, and they gently rose from the bed, Malik relieved at not having him sit so close to him anymore.

But relief was short lived as Malik watched the other cross the room to a table, where a syringe filled with an unknown liquid was picked up, the tip of the needle glinting in the pale light. How he did not notice that, he would never know, but fear began to eat away at his stomach once again, and Malik just stared wide eyed as the man returned to him and reached for his bound arms.

Paralyzed by fear, he watched dumbly as the needle was set at the base of his left arm, and only when it was tilted downwards to meet it's goal did he move, wrenching his arms back and scooting as far away as possible- to the corner of the headboard. His captor frowned, not expecting his sudden behavior. Malik only stared in horror at the needle, his mind not really computing that the man was going to drug him.

"S-stay away from me. Stay away from me with that, and stay away from me for as long as I live!" Malik growled, showing teeth and holding his arms close to his chest, keeping the underside of them out of view.

"Malik." He purred, dark purple eyes watching him as he leaned one knee on the bed, making Malik freeze up and retreat far back as he could, only to have his back hit the wall. "Malik, this is the only way."

"Then there will be no way! I'm not going to have you drug me, you psycho!" his eyes wide, he could only watch as he moved closer to him, only stopping when he was at his side, to terrified to try and move away again.

"I promise you, it will be okay." And then it was so quick that there would have been no way to stop it, even if his hands weren't bound-Malik found himself choking, both of the man's hands around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He choked, desperately trying to claw at the other's tan arm, but only succeeding in flailing wildly. Hysterically he thrashed, trying someway to kick the man to release him, beginning to feel light headed. And then, it stopped, the hands gone.

Gasping for breath, Malik doubled over and gulped air in, hands around his throat massaging his neck. He knew then that death was not far too far away, and the threat's his captor gave were not empty. And knowing this, he began to sob quietly out of defeat and loneliness. He might truly die here...

Feeling the other gently take his arm again, he did not resist, and only continued to cry as the needle entered his arm, filling his blood with the foreign liquid. Almost immediately the drug began to take place, making his vision blurry and undefined. The last thing that his coherent mind comprehended was the other pulling him close and placing his lips next to his ear, whispering whatever a psycho had to say, before retreating and leaving to lay there, slumped on his side, his mind slipping from reality.

Everything else lost, the only thing he managed to gain was the other's name.

Mariku.


	3. Chapter o3

**When I continue to write this fic, I find that I type Malik as an extension of myself, having him deal with the things that I, myself am most scared of, and making his reactions similar to what mine would be in his position. Trying to keep him in character is hard, because I am most formally an artist, not a writer. I have the ideas and motivation, but not the natural god given talent to execute them properly. I have to work hard to make something presentable to read. To me, my writing is short, choppy, and does not flow. Have you ever felt the same?**

* * *

Malik did not think of himself as a strong person. Physically, maybe, but emotionally he felt weak, and it took all of his will power to not cry when the second time he awoke, he was in another strange and barren room. But unlike the previous one, it was light, a window to his right casting a light display onto the soft blue carpet he was sitting on, still bound. This was puzzling, the fact that he was not in some dingy basement with a knife to his throat more terrifying than the idea of that itself. What...what was his captor playing at?

Rubbing his eyes, Malik looked around the white washed room warily, not knowing if the man was in the room with him as he had been before. A thorough search told him no, and he shifted, placing a foot underneath him before standing up, wobbly from not having his arms to steady him. Letting go of a breath he didn't know he had held, Malik slowly made his way to the window, inhaling sharply to replace his lost breath as he looked out it's clear panes. He was...completely surrounded by forest, it's green trees stretching for miles and miles, past his point of view, the only thing interrupting their natural pattern being a lake off to his left. Able to see the top of the trees, he guessed that wherever he was, the house was big, him being about three floors up from the ground.

"Oh...god." This place was foreign to him: Malik had never visited a forest. It's acres were so vast, stretching out to the horizon, surrounding him, making him feel very claustrophobic. He was...very far away from home, and he was scared.

Arms tied behind his back, he leaned his body against the window, his forehead now cool from the cold glass. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes and trying to relax, not wanting to become hysterical as he had been before. Malik was strong when he had moved to America, a completely knew country, and he could be strong now. But somehow, it was just...not the same. Before, he had his family, and they went through the ordeal together. Now, he had no one. His family was...gone. Forever. Unless his captor took heed to his begging and returned him home. Malik laughed at the idea, but it came out as more of a choked sob than anything else.

Turning his head to the side, he opened his eyes, breathing onto the window and watching small crystals form. It was still cold. Even after everything, the damn cold was still here. Malik almost laughed again. He missed Egypt.

"I want to go home." He whispered quietly, clenching his teeth when his shoulders began to heave, choking back the need to cry. He would not cry, he would not cry. Malik didn't want to be weak anymore, and he would not cry! Sucking the feelings down, he calmed himself, keeping composed and calm, but not bothering to stop the tears that _had _formed, slowly running down his face and underneath his chin before dropping to the floor. Malik stared at them, not caring. What was the use of it? And then he repeated, a little louder than before.

"I want to go home!" His voiced wavered, not hearing the soft 'click' behind him.

"I'm sorry that you find it so distasteful here, Malik. Tell me what I can do to make it more pleasurable."

Freezing up, he continued to stare out the window, not giving the other the satisfaction of facing him. He was to scared to, anyway. He hadn't heard the door open...

"Let me go, and instead of threatening me with death, do it to yourself." He really couldn't have kept his mouth closed if he tried. After all, Malik's favorite way to hide his fear was through biting sarcasm, and his situation was not going to change that. He was going to die anyway...right?

"Malik, don't hand out death wishes that easily. I have yet to hurt you, and I do not plan to do so."

"Yeah? So what do you call drugging me and tying me up, taking me wherever the fuck I am?! Friendly consideration?" he was panicking now, he knew it, and he closed his eyes, turning sharply around to face his captor, only opening them to glare at the other. He was still unnerved at his appearance.

The man named Mariku was staring at him, and he tensed, backing up as far into the wall as he could. He was unbelievably scared of him, and Malik wanted to be as far away from him as physically possible. As he continued to stare at him, the more unease he began to feel. Malik felt naked under the other's gaze, and he shifted, trying to hide as much of his body as he could.

When his captor moved, it was unexpected, and he narrowed his eyes; what was the other up to? He moved towards him, and Malik stepped back, his heart racing. Every step that Mariku took towards him, he took double the amount back, making sure no distance was lost between the two of them. He was surprised when he stopped, his target apparently not him, but the bed, and he sat on the corner of it, the mattress squeaking softly. Malik hid himself in the corner, not trusting what he was doing.

"Why don't you come over here, Malik? I won't hurt you, I promise." Mariku's purple eyes bore holes into his head, and he refused, shaking his head sharply.

"No." The answer was clear enough. Mariku frowned.

"All I want to do is talk."

"Then talk, fool! I don't need to be anywhere near you to hear you, your voice is so damn loud as it is!" He was scared, he was scared he was scared he was scared. What did he want from him? He looked hurt at his harsh words, his blonde eyebrows furrowing as he sighed. Did he really think that he would just come?

'Insane,' he reminded himself, 'he's insane.'

"Don't say things like that, Malik. All I want is for you to talk to me."

"Fine." it was simple enough, he supposed. Stuck in the same room as him, it wouldn't hurt to...talk. It wasn't as if he was given anything else to do. Mariku looked happy at his reply, smiling a little. Malik didn't trust that smile.

When the other didn't say anything, Malik grew annoyed. He wanted to talk, so why wasn't he saying anything? What did he _want?_ Did he want him to start first?

"You wanted to talk, fine. So talk, don't just keep staring at me like I'm a piece of purchased meat."

"No Malik, I want you to talk to me. I don't want to hear myself, just you. Say anything, ask me anything and I'll tell you. Just...talk to _me._"

Malik was wary of this. Would information be handed out just that easily? There had to be a catch somewhere. But...it didn't seem as though there was one. And if the opportunity was being handed to him, he would take it. Although, Malik was afraid to learn exactly what the other's intents were. Clearing his throat, Malik spoke.

"Where are we?"

"Minnesota."

"Where in Minnesota?"

"I can't tell you that."

Malik growled, angry that he had been lied to. Mariku said he would tell him anything, and now he was denying him the information he deserved?

"Why?"

"Because you don't need to know that."

"You said you'd tell me anything! Were you lying to me!?"

"No, but there are somethings that you just can't know, dear Malik." He bristled at the word before his name.

"Fine. What is your name?"

"Mariku."

"Mariku...what?"

"I can't tell you that." Exaggerated, he almost pulled out his hair.

"_Okay, _how did I get here? And I know by you, but...how?"

"I drugged you and brought you here by plane, much faster than by car. A couple of times you had tried waking, but I drugged you again."

"...Why...I mean, h-how did you get me on the plane, somebody would have saw..." Malik mourned for all the people who must have seen him unconscious, but did not take action and call the police. How many times do you see an unconscious boy at the airport, blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back? People were so stupid... or maybe, they just didn't care. Didn't care for the Egyptian boy as he was kidnapped from his family. After all, he was _different_, what would they care if he died at the hands of a stranger? He was not one of _them_. Malik grit his teeth at this, knowing that it was true, and feeling disgusted.

"Nobody saw, I hired a private plane." Exactly what lengths did he go to kidnap him...?

"And even the pilot didn't care that you kidnapped me? Fuck, what's wrong with the world!?" He wailed to himself, to Mariku, and to nobody in particular. This was so messed up...

"I paid them to keep secrecy. I'm not stupid Malik, and I'm not going to have one person ruin my chance at happiness."

Ignoring what Mariku had meant at his 'chance at happiness,' Malik continued with his questions, flinging them at him with such speed that he had to pause to catch a breath.

"So does that make you wealthy?"

"Yes."

"How did you get your wealth?"

"Through inheritance."

"Do you own a company?"

"No."

"Do you work?"

"Sometimes, but now I won't be as much."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that now."

"...Is this your house?"

"One of them."

"Where is the closest city?"

"I can't tell you that."

Eventually, he had run out of ideas of what to ask, even though he had a million questions. Then only one thing was left, and he was frightened to ask it, not knowing if he wanted to know the answer or not. Why...was he kidnapped?

"Why..." he trailed off nervously.

"Yes?" Mariku leaned forward, watching him.

"Why..." he couldn't do it, he just couldn't do it, "why do you kidnap me?"

Mariku just smiled.


	4. Chapter o4

Mariku had grown up well. As a child, he had everything he had ever asked for. His family was wealthy from inheritance, one of his great-great-great-great-great grandfathers (he often lost track of how many 'greats' it was) having spurned such unbelievable wealth that his family still reaped it's benefits. And of course, he made his own money. Though through a very shady and unmoral way.

But no amount of money kept him from being teased. In his school and city, the majority of the population consisted of white people, making him feel very alienated from his Egyptian race. Throughout elementary and middle school, he was teased for his dark skin, and even more so for his blonde hair, not that it was different from other blonde's, but because it was unnatural for him, an Egyptian, to have blonde hair. Nearing the end of eighth grade, Mariku had begun to despise all parts of his family's history and culture, wishing to lead a new life.

Starting high school, Mariku had begun to befriend foreign student named Bakura, who had his share in dealing drugs and was already at the top of the 'delinquent' list. He was drawn to him-a foreigner different from everybody else-just like him. And even though his skin was light in color, his hair was as well; a blonde so light that it was often mistook for being white. And because of this, he was teased as well. But not for long; the far-too-old teasers were found bruised and bleeding in the school's gym locker room the very next day.

Bakura was smart, and his grades reflected it, but often times the people you associate yourself transfer more than your own identity, and this was very much true for him. As smart as Bakura was, it did not help him leave the gang that he had dragged Mariku into, after all, he'd grown up in the slums of his home town; the exact places Mariku's parents had warned him not to visit. And it was this that Bakura entranced him so. He was rebelling against his life style, wanting to live something other than a pampered life filled with proper etiquette-he wanted to feel the excitement of life and the adrenaline Bakura and his friends supplied.

His grades began to drop as he became more and more transfixed with the British male and the rest of his friends, finding much more enjoyment out of his new gang than any amount of 'proper behavior' his parents expected. But coming home one day, he found the familiar blue and white siding of police cars circling in front of his home, and this time, without him in them. An officer led him over to a quiet part of the yard when he began yelling and screaming for what had happened, and she quietly told him that his parents had been murdered, the culprit yet to be found. With this, he had gained all of his family's money through will. He had never had a big family in the first place.

Although Mariku had never felt close to his parents in any way, he still grieved for their loss, feeling even more alone than he had before. But consolance was found in the most odd of places; from Bakura himself. Mariku had thought he would have been chastised for his weak behavior, maybe even left in disgust, but he was both shocked and relieved as Bakura let him into his single apartment that night, sopping wet from the rain that had begun to fall after his parent's death. Sitting down on a dilapidating couch, Bakura watched his shoulders heave before quietly sitting down next to him. Gently patting his leg, he reasurred him that it would be okay, that he had lost his parents as well,(the reason of being sent to America was because he was to live with a cousin, which he refused, and bought his own apartment) and that 'hey, this means we'll have to stick together now.' Mariku just laughed harshly and slumped over, sleep taking control.

Finding no more point in education after high school, Mariku had offered to repay Bakura by letting the other live with him after he had bought a large house on the outskirts of town. Bakura refused, saying that 'he loved the gang life too much.' And so Mariku lived alone for three years, finding job after job to occupy his time, not for the money, but out of boredom. Those were the longest years of his life. It wasn't exactly a bad life, but it was dull, and it lacked the excitement that he had had before with Bakura and his gang. And also, because he was desperately lonely. His life, all and all, was missing something.

It was only when he was working as a cashier at a gas station that he felt the thrill of adrenaline again. At Two A.M. on a Saturday night, he was held up by one of the many gangs that roamed the city, and a gun was pointed to his chest, an order barked at him to hand over every cent that the register held (they would be disappointed to know that this was the 'twilight hour,' and there was hardly anything there TO hand over). He refused, knowing full well that he could die, but not caring in the slightest. If this was what it took to feel alive again, Mariku didn't care what he'd have to sacrifice.

He was surprised then when the man ripped off his hood, long white hair falling from it, Bakura staring at him for a while, gun still even with his chest, before he spoke again.

"Come back with me, Mariku, or I swear by the gods above that I'll shoot you. But, before that happens,"Bakura grinned,"give me the rest of the money."

Mariku had grinned back unlocking the register and setting out it's contents onto the counter. Leaning over the money, he smiled sweetly in a mocking gesture. "So, here comes my knight in bloody armor come to save me. Tell me, will you sweep me off my feet as well?"

Bakura watched him again, brown eyes narrowed as he leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him, before snatching the money out beneath him.

"As long as you have legs to walk with, I'll never degrade myself as far as to help you again. You're coming back with me, and that's an order."

He laughed, walking out from behind the counter and taking the hood out from Bakura's hand, playing with it for a while before throwing it back at him. Bakura caught it, glaring. It was such a welcoming expression, and one that Mariku had missed for a very long time. Knowing that cameras were taping the store, he left quickly with Bakura, tossing off his uniform and flipping off the camera, wondering how long it would take the police to show up at his house.

---

After his reunion with Bakura, he had once again offered for him to live at his house, and this time, he accepted. Their relationship had always been flighty, and Mariku was surprised that Bakura found him _tasteful, _not expecting him to have interest in him, a man. But after their re-encounter, Bakura had warmed up to him more(if that was how he could explain it) and told him how lonely he had been with Mariku gone. But even with the unorthodox love Bakura displayed for him, Mariku was still lonely. Bakura was often gone, doing god-knew-what, and even though Mariku had rejoined his gang, he wasn't nearly an active member that he was, and was still alone most of the time.

Then one day after walking to a corner cafe from his newest job(the gas station manager taking no charges after he bribed him with 15,ooo dollars to stay quiet about the theft) he looked up from the coffee he was sipping out the window, meeting the gaze of a dark boy walking down the sidewalk. The boy was beautiful, gold hair accented by his dark skin, small tattoos identical to his under purple eyes, and a petite body that looked almost feminine in nature if it were not hidden by the city school's boy uniform. But the most unique thing about him was his skin, abnormally dark not by the sun, but from race, Mariku could tell. He was Egyptian, just like him.

Their gaze held for a second or so, the boy breaking it off as he looked away, continuing down the street. But those brief seconds were all it took for Mariku to become entranced, wanting those eyes back on him. He stood up suddenly, leaving his coffee behind as he raced outside, trying to find the boy again, looking desperately around until he saw him turn the corner at the end of the street, walking into a bookshop.

Mariku watched him quietly, standing behind a bookshelf and spying on the other as he picked up a book, dusting off the cover and flipping through the pages. The boy sighed, setting it back down before picking up another. He watched the teenager go through this process what seemed like dozens of times before the boy smiled, picking up two from the pile he had made and turning them over to check their prices, seeming to make up his mind. The expression he gave next was sad as he frowned at them both, wincing a little as he set them back down into the bargain bin. In any other situation, Mariku would have laughed at this, someone so poor that they could hardly afford a book from the 'bargain bin,' but seeing the beautiful boy look so sad at their prices, he only felt pity.

As the boy sighed again and left the store, he followed quickly behind him, but not to close as to make the other feel as though he was being stalked, Mariku watched as he entered the same parking lot as he used. He rushed to his car, knowing the boy was to leave, and not wanting to let go of him that quickly. Sitting behind his wheel, he leaned his head onto his arms, just watching as the other Egyptian walked to a motorcycle, taking a chain of keys out of his pocket and unlocking the bike, picking up a helmet and setting it on his head. Mariku grinned a little then as the boy lifted a leg over onto his ride, giving him a nice view of his rear end, before starting up the motorcycle and kicking it back until he pressed on the gas peddle. Starting up his own car, Mariku followed him.

He briefly wondered if Bakura would be mad at him for coming home so late, and wondered how he should react if Mariku told him that he had followed this boy all the way to his house. Mariku mused over this for a while as he turned the wheel of his sports car, watching the motorcycle ahead of him in the opposite lane take street after street. Only when the neighborhood became increasingly bad did he begin to worry. What would his boy be doing here? And then the boy slowed, pulling over and diligently locking his motorcycle up, before entering an old and dirty looking apartment building. Watching as he opened the door, light spilling framing his body, his silhouette was cut from view as the Egyptian shut the door, cutting off all ties from Mariku's gaze.

Mariku wanted more.

---

And so his game started, following the boy home and to school everyday, making sure to stay just out of sight, but able to watch his every move. Bakura laughed at him, not seeming to mind that he was watching someone other than him so intently, just remarking how he must be rubbing off on him. Mariku only shrugged.

There were a lot of things about his boy that he had learned, the first of which, being his name, from salvaging a school paper he had thrown away on the bus while emptying out his book bag; Malik Ishtar. The name was nice, and he took joy in it's familiar Egyptian...ness. Malik was sixteen, attending Saint Matthew High School, and he had an older sister, and either a step brother or an adopted brother (Mariku could not tell which it was), both of which were also Egyptian. His sister worked at the museum and his brother, a mechanic; neither of which bringing in an income that he felt suitable for his Malik. And it had come to this that Mariku had become to think of Malik as 'his'. Obviously, the boy had had a hard life, and was living close to poverty, and all he wished was to save Malik from his hell and comfort him, giving him everything that he lacked now. Since he owned little to none, he found it reasonable to think of the boy as his. Mariku was obsessed.

Some days, after work instead of returning home, he would park his car a block or two from Malik's apartment and just watch him. This was achieved by climbing a tree almost too conveniently placed next to Malik's window, using it's branches as a foot hold as he climbed it, knowing to stay hidden as he watched him. Malik was very studious, he learned, wanting to some day get out of the city and go to college and get a good job to support his family so they would never have to worry about paying the bills ever again. And it seemed that everything Malik lacked, Mariku had. But in the same sense, he also had everything Mariku wished for; a family that, despite their surroundings, loved him.

One particular night was bad for his Malik. He could hear him scream at his sister, arguing over work. She did not want him to work, wanting him to only immerse himself in school, but it was not what Malik wanted, and he retaliated that, since he had few friends, he had a couple of hours to spare to bring in some extra money. The argument was lost, however, and Mariku listened as Malik stomped up the stares, swinging his door shut with a bang as he flopped face down onto his bed and screamed into his blue comforter. Calming down, Malik flipped onto his back, staring up at ceiling for a while, before looking at the door and then sitting up to go lock it.

Flopping back onto his bed, Mariku watched curiously as Malik closed his eyes, hiding his face in his hands before dropping them back down again onto his stomach, lifting up his shirt and rubbing small circles onto his skin. Mariku's breath caught as Malik shrugged off his shirt, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands more freely now, watching silently as they moved upwards, gently touching his nipples. Malik sighed turned into a groan as he twisted them what looked like almost painful before he paused, panting a little and placing one hand onto his black belt, undoing it and trowing it across the room. Mariku froze, staring in front at him not daring to move an inch, and not wanting to do so anyway. How far would Malik go with this? He hoped for the best, wondering how long he could keep quiet himself, growing hard as he watched his Malik let go of tension. Hopefully, his hours of watching the boy would be rewarded.

And then Mariku's silent encouragement _was_ rewarded as Malik's tan hand slowly undid his pants, pulling them off and flinging them across the room to meet his belt, his body now completely naked. Mariku surely wouldn't be able last through this silent show, and he even considered leaving then before he made noise, and letting Malik his privacy, even though he didn't know it was being invaded. But the sight of finally seeing all of his Malik before him was too tempting to give up, and he stayed, perched upon the tree and hidden in it's shadows as he continued to watch the teenager bestow pleasure upon himself. Malik was truly beautiful...

Malik sighed for the third time that night, gently touching his erection as he swung his other hand over his mouth, muffling the moan that came from it before becoming more bold. He closed his eyes, teasing the tip of it gently before moving his whole hand down it's length, pausing at the base before repeating it again. Letting go of his mouth, Malik seemed to think that he was capable at not making noise. Letting his now freed hand gently play with his nipples as his occupied hand increased in it's ministrations, his hips quivered slightly. This continued for a couple minutes or so before Malik seemed to become desperate for friction, his top half losing interest as his hand lowered itself between his legs, joining the other as he bucked up, giving out a soft hiss, his eyebrows furrowing. But it was not enough, and so softly he moaned that Mariku had to strain to hear it, before his right hand left the other and moved lower between his thighs.

He teased his opening with a finger, slowly inserting it, his expression turning pained when he added a second. As much as he loved his show, Mariku felt the need to tell him to stop. He did not want to see his Malik in pain. But the expression was short lived as Malik moaned a little louder than the last, pumping his erection faster as his fingers mimicked the motion. Biting his lip, he could tell Malik was reaching his limit(to early, much to his disappointment) as the other sped up, writhing a little before he came suddenly without warning. Giving one last moan, Malik dropped his hips, taking both of his hands away from his lower regions before dragging one hand onto his chest into the puddle of cum and lifting it up and staring at it.

Mariku had never exactly thought of his Malik as a sexual creature exactly, but was pleased to find himself wrong. Only this was obviously thought to soon as he watched Malik stare at his hand before his expression turned disgusted. Then, to his somewhat horror, Malik began to cry softly, his eyes wide as he rubbed the white substance off of him desperately, the fact that he had pleasured himself seeming to be horrifying. But Mariku could only watch as his beautiful boy cried softly, head in his hands as he rocked himself back and forth. Oh, what he would have given to reach out and hold him...

Eventually his Malik calmed, wiping his face with one hand before standing up to turn out his light. Still concerned, Mariku only left when the other blonde finally fell asleep, feeling the need to watch over him. Even though he didn't know that he was watching him, or even who he was, Mariku still stayed.

It was with this that Mariku had begun to fantasize: what if he were to truly make Malik his? What if HE could become Malik's answers? What if he could take Malik away from all of his hardships and problems so that he never had anything to worry about again? And the more he thought about it, the more he began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't just be a fantasy.

It was very late that Mariku had come home that night, surprised to see Bakura waiting for him. Usually he was the first one home. Bakura stared at him for a while, almost seeming to suspect something before he grinned, his eyes traveling down to his crotch, looking up at him and smirking. He was still hard. Mariku took the offer, but he almost felt guilty for it. For the whole time, it was Malik he was fucking, not Bakura, and it was love he was proclaiming, not wild lust. Oh well, at least Bakura always knew the answers to his problems.

---

Mariku knew that with their lifestyle, lots of danger followed suit. Bakura would often return home by slamming the door fast and telling him to close all the windows as he watched outside for whatever he was worried about. Whether or not it was the police he worried about, or another gang, he did not know, nor did he wish to care. Every ounce of spare time he had had started to shift into favor of his Malik, watching him diligently, almost as if he was living out his life along side him, and naturally, Bakura had started to grow jealous.

He said he had not minded before, that Mariku could watch the boy as long as he wanted as long as he didn't touch him, but when he had accidentally moaned Malik's name instead of the British man's during sex, he had flown into a fit of rage. He had beaten Mariku that night, and he was surprised with himself that he did not fight back(as much as Bakura hated to admit it, he WAS stronger and bigger than him), but simply took the beating quietly. Bakura had stopped eventually, exhausted from his abuse upon the blonde, and stared down at him. He watched back, not moving before Bakura had spoken.

"I don't care anymore, Mariku. If you truly love that boy more than me, then fine. But it'll be him that you hurt, not me."

He hadn't had time to tell Bakura that it was 'you that I truly love!' before he just simply scoffed, throwing on his clothes and stomped down the hall out the front door. Dejected, Mariku was once again lonely, thinking of both Malik and Bakura, not knowing which he loved more, but knowing that neither of their love was returned back to him.

Days had gone by without Bakura's return, but Mariku waited for him, cooking dinner every night in case he might come back, though it was a very futile attempt. On the third day, he had dismissed himself from his lover, not finding point in waiting for him when he obviously was still mad, off sulking somewhere like he usually did. Bakura was very fickle. Instead, he opted for his other love; and his growing obsession.

That day, Malik had gone to the movies with a friend, something Mariku was glad to see him do. Malik often kept to himself, it seemed, and he was somewhat cold towards other people, and so this random burst of socialism pleased him, liking how this other person made him smile. But a pang of jealousy hit him, wanting the other to be dead, and for it to be HIM that Malik was smiling at. Growling at his burst of emotion, Mariku stuffed it down, waiting for the pair to leave the theater. No matter how dedicated he was, he would not watch the movie with them. In all honesty, he had never been fond of horror movies.

Relieved as they finally exited, it was growing late when his Malik and his friend left the movie theater, the other boy offering him coffee, which he accepted graciously. Entering behind them, Mariku sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, he had lifted a newspaper up so he could watch them without being seen. A waitress approached him, asking if he would like to order, but he shooed her away, not wanting to miss anything. She looked a little put off(him being one less tip she would receive) before flitting over to his Malik's table.

Malik's friend had ordered the same for them both, chatting with him a while until their identical iced coffees arrived. He had grown bored of watching the conversation between the two boys, eventually just focusing on his Malik. Every move he made he drunk in and worshiped, from the tiniest things like a flip of the hair or a pause in speech. Everything Malik did was beautiful and captivating, and Mariku was becoming more and more entranced with him by every passing second, becoming high on the feeling of watching him, pretending his Malik _was_ his. H-he...he loved him He loved him with every ounce of his soul.

Jostled from his focus on Malik, he watched in horror as the other boy paused, whispering softly something before sitting up gently and leaning over the table, kissing his Malik. A rage he could not conceive to describe bubbled up then, and it took every ounce of his will power to not throw his paper down and strangle that boy. Strangle him for even _daring _to set eyes upon his Malik, and to mutilate his every nerve for go so far as to..._kiss_ him. But what he saw next shocked him even more, for he had believed his Malik to welcome this gesture and return the favor by kissing him back. This was not the case, however, and his Malik froze, tensing greatly until he suddenly stood up, knocking over his coffee.

The other boy stood as well, asking over and over what was wrong, as Malik had looked on the verge of tears, before he put a hand to his mouth, backing up slowly away from the table and then turning quickly and running out of the store. From his corner, Mariku watched as his Malik left, before his attention quickly snapped back to the other boy who dejectedly paid the drinks and cleaned up the spilled coffee. He tipped the waitress and left the store. Mariku followed him.

The boy turned a corner, taking a shortcut through a dark alley to his parking lot, only to be shoved roughly into the wall. His eyes were wide and he was scared before he was flipped around, forced to face his attacker. Mariku glared with a hatred so intense at the boy that there were not words adequate enough to describe it, before kicking the boy in the side over and over until he pulled him up. He told the boy that he had no right to touch his Malik, and the boy had protested that he was in no position to call him 'his.' Later, he mused that he could have drawn out the meeting to be more dramatic, instead of just shooting the boy and watching as his blood dripped down his neck before throwing him away, disgusted. But he was never a romantic like that.

Coming home, he was glad to have Bakura waiting for him, relieved that he had been forgiven. But relief was short lived as Bakura saw his bloodied jacket, interrogating him for why it was there, and whose it was. Reluctantly, he admitted that he had continued to follow Malik after he left, and killed the boy who dared kiss him. Bakura only laughed, mentioning how he 'must be rubbing off on him.' Mariku had to agree. Only a pang of worry was left then. Maybe he should have gotten rid of the body instead of leaving it in the open...

---

After the incident, his obsession with Malik had taken a dark turn, instantly despising anyone who looked at Malik or even had the gall to touch him. Of course, his Malik had grieved over his friend's death, blaming himself for it since it happened only just after he left. He had locked himself in his room for days, not wanting to show weakness in front of his family, and opted for solitude instead, but Mariku watched intently, so he never was truly alone. Since his Malik's family chose to ignore his grievances, Mariku took this task upon himself, silently and lovingly watching over the boy until he deemed himself ready to accept his friends death. That day was a celebration to both his Malik, and to him. Mariku hated to see his Malik unhappy.

A couple weeks had passed by, every breath Malik took filling the hole in his heart, but he was still lonely. His Malik didn't know of his existence, and it was then he began to create fantasies of his Malik; his God.

Years would have passed, and Malik would live with him in a life of ease, by the ocean, perhaps. Malik would love him, and would admire him and his undying love as Mariku worshiped his body, remembering the day that he had first seen his Malik's body presented to him. The other blonde would moan softly as he kissed his legs, one of the most beautiful things about him(but how could he choose...?). The kisses would travel slowly upwards to the inside of his thighs, making his Malik grow impatient, wanting his mouth elsewhere. A tan hand would gently grab his hair, beckoning him closer, and would only let go when Mariku complied, sucking the tip of his erection, closing his eyes and feeling so happy that what he was experiencing was real, that his Malik loved him and was offering his body to him. Need present in himself, Mariku would suck harder, making his Malik gasp and thrust into his open mouth before coming suddenly, his back arching as he cried out in pleasure, Mariku gladly swallowing everything. Exhausted, Malik would lie back and watch silently with half closed eyes as Mariku prepared himself for what came next, the lube coating his own erection as he lined himself up, leaning over the bronze body and intertwining their fingers, kissing Malik slowly before he thrust in. Malik would gasp sharply, crossing his legs behind his back as he pleasured him, thrusting in and out and then back in again, proclaiming his love for him over and over until the tightness became almost unbearable. His thrusts would become more erratic, the friction between their bodies making his Malik hard once again. Reaching between them, he would grasp Malik's erection, pumping it in time with his movements, the sensation of it all overwhelming his Malik as he tensed up, closing his eyes and giving one last moan before cumming for the last time. The sudden tightness unexpected, Mariku would cum as well, giving one last thrust before pulling out and sighing, kissing his Malik and smiling at his own little paradise. Malik would smile back, at _him_, and would be happy.

With time on his hands, Mariku had created many fantasies, but his favorite of which being the one where he was at his Malik's mercy, the blonde having kidnapped him and drugged him, taking him far away from his life and everything he loved, having no choice than to comply to his every whim. At first, he would be terrified of his captor and his demands, but would quickly grow to love him. His Malik, seeing his change of heart, would offer him the choice of freedom, but Mariku would decline, choosing to stay out of his free will, and spend the rest of his life with him. That one he liked the best, the idea of being owned absolutely exhilarating, especially if he suffered under his Malik, who would then, of course, love him in return.

Then one day everything crashed and burned when Bakura came home, or so he thought. Hysterical, Bakura screamed in rage when he asked what was wrong, grabbing the front of his shirt roughly and choking him as he wrenched Mariku towards him. The glint in his eyes was horribly and terribly mad, but also...scared.

"Mariku, you fucking idiot, do you want to know why I'm so damn mad? Do you want to fucking know why?!" Mariku was reluctant to nod his head yes. "I'll fucking tell you why! It's because of that day when you were chasing after your prissy ass little princess and his little fuckbuddy. You got pissy because he kissed him, and killed him. But hmm, Mariku, let's see here...what did you do wrong?" Bakura tapped his chin to mock him, and it would be almost comical if he wasn't even more angry than before. "I'll tell you what you fucking did wrong...You forgot to get rid of the body! So let's just get it all out into the open then, shall we!?

A maid from the gay-ass little coffee and biscuit shop you went to saw you leave after him, and after interrogation, guess what, my little Mariku? She fucking told the bloody cops. So now the fucking police are after you, and once they know where you are, they'll see me as well and know that it was me that robbed the Galleria. So, since you're such a wise-ass little boy, tell me, what do you propose we do?"

The question was shot at him with so much venom that he only stared blankly back up at Bakura, a short reply the only answer.

"We leave."

---

The prospect of leaving the house and all of their belongings behind was not something he had meditated over, having never felt tied down to material possessions. But there was one thing he could not leave behind, and it was the one thing that he did not want to give up; his Malik.

Watching his Malik every day as though it was his last, he waited for Bakura to say when the right time was to leave. Accepting that he _would_ have to leave his Malik was terrifying, and it never was accomplished. He had resigned himself to never seeing his beautiful boy again before he had actually thought about maybe, just maybe, how he could keep him. The idea came suddenly, and he was surprised at it's spontaneousness. He doubted it would work, but he would try for that one sliver of hope that he wouldn't have to bid his Malik a fare-well. Everything ready for his plan, all Mariku had to do then was wait in the dark and abandoned building, praying to Malik, his god, that he would pass by.

Recently, construction had begun on Malik's small street, plans for a retail outlet booming. Everyday, coming home from school, Malik would take the street adjacent to which he lived on to cut across to his apartment. All Mariku had done was place a stolen construction sign(courtesy of Bakura) in front of it's entrance, telling passer byers to take another road if they wished to pass. His Malik would have no choice then to take a detour, the closest one a block or two from his apartment, hoping that he would pass by Mariku's hiding spot where he waited for him. And that...was it. It was simple in theory, but seemed almost ingenious in his eyes.

Praying for what seemed hours that his Malik would come, that he would not have to create a new plan, and would not have to leave him behind, Mariku almost cried in relief as he finally saw his Malik appear. He came into his vision running, and out of breath, sinking down to the ground in front of the building Mariku was hiding in. Hating that his Malik started to cry, he consoled himself that this would be the last time that he would watch silently while he suffered. The tears coming to an end, Malik wiped his face with his sleeve, staring down at his lap. Knowing that this was the opportune moment, Mariku called out at him, Malik looking up sharply, as if he didn't quite hear him.

Clearing his throat, Mariku yelled out again, louder than the last. He watched as his Malik stood up, ready to help his persona that he had adopted to lure his Malik to him. Almost too easily, Malik opened the door to his building, stepping inside and inquired to why the information didn't match up. But Mariku was ready for him, and knocked him out cold with a bat he had bought.

A little unbelieving that what was happening was real at first, Mariku knelt down, reaching out a shaky hand to touch the side of his Malik's unconscious face for the first time in his life. He almost cried from happiness. His Malik, finally his. He would never be alone again.

---

**Writing through Mariku, I find, is much more exciting and of a challenge than Malik. To capture his dark obsession and intense love for Malik is hard, especially when Malik himself doesn't even know of his existence. Mariku sees Malik as someone who is weak and needs protecting, his fantasy of having Malik's attention completely on him shrouding over the fact that Malik has, in actuality, more of a backbone that he wishes for. That's why in chapters through Malik's point of view, he is a lot more harsh and cocky, even if he admits himself to be weak. The idea that society has that 'boys do not cry' is something that I really wanted to interpret, the unbelievable stress of his life and the terror of being held hostage would have anybody cry. Malik does do this, but hides it, ashamed for his feelings and what he sees as 'weakness.'. Just thought I should clear somethings up. ;**


	5. Chapter o5

When Mariku did not immediately reply, Malik began to worry. Maybe he was just waiting for him to ask the question before he killed him…or worse. And the longer that Mariku continued to stare at him, the more Malik became paranoid. Wanting no more to prolong the feeling, he snapped the question again, hating the way his voice wavered. "Why did you kidnap me?"

Mariku stared at him long and hard then, drilling eyes into his head. Frustration rising, Malik had opened his mouth to ask the question once again before the other cut him off sharply. "Because I love you." And it was set with such seriousness and sudden voice that Malik found himself freeze in place, not unlike a dear stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"W-what?" This was so messed up. There was no way that he heard that right, it had to have just been imagined. His imagination playing a sick, sick joke on him. Yes, that was it.

It had to have been.

"I love you, Malik. That's why."

Malik stared at him, eyes wide, not believing for a second that it was truth, but yet, the way his eyes seemed so...determined...made him terrified. What reason reason would he have to say so easily that he loved him? He didn't even know him! How could he say that!? This was so...sick. So unbelievably...sick. Malik didn't know how to deal with it, with any of it. How could this person, the one who kidnapped him, say that he loved him!? It was disgusting, and despite it all, it made him mad.

"D-Don't you fucking-!...You're sick! You're damn sick, you freak! Has anyone ever told you that, freak!? Don't you fucking say things like that to me!"

Having no other way to deal with his anger and fear, Malik screamed at his captor, making his throat hoarse from abuse. Letting the words bubble out of his mouth like a disease, he continued to yell, like it was a life line. This was his only way out from hell, and he didn't care what would happen to him because of it. All that mattered now was letting go of all of his terror, his emotions too many to keep inside. After all, what else did he have to loose?

"D-don't you ever tell me that! It is a mockery word-there is no such thing! S-stay away from me!"

When Mariku stood up, he almost began to cry, his voice hoarse as he tried to yell louder, making him cough. Scrabbling at the wall, every ounce of his horror returned when he had no where left to run and hide as the other blonde began to slowly make his way across the wide white room towards him. Desperately, Malik darted his eyes to the door. There had to be a way out...

"Malik..." He stared up at the man, frozen in fear and hating their now close proximity that he had made sure to eliminate. What was he going to do to him...? Was he to be beaten for his insults? Was he to be killed for retaliation?

Malik cringed when Mariku kneeled down in front of him, so that they were eye level, but Malik screwed his eyes shut, holding his arms in front of his head to block whatever punishment may befall upon him. He was not, however, expecting the other to reach out his own dark hand to gently pry his arm from in front of his face. Not expecting the sudden contact, he smacked his hand away, gritting his teeth and growling at the other.

"Don't you fucking dare touch me, you freak." Malik spat at him, his throat burning from overuse. He felt so pitiful...Like an animal crouched in the corner of it's cage as it's predator circled it, ready to be devoured. But he would not let himself be eaten-Malik would fight to the very end.

He huddled in his corner, taking the arm Mariku had touched and squeezing it close to his chest. It was disgusting that he'd tried to touch him. For a second, he had felt the others hand on him_, touching _him, and it scared him. Malik did not like to be touched. Especially by psychos who had drugged him, kidnapped him, tied him up, and then proclaimed love to him. No.

Mariku's hand dropped and he frowned, leaning over a bit so that he towered above Malik, his eyes glinting as he shuddered. Placing his hands above both sides of his head, he trapped him there, making his shadow embrace Malik's entirety, intently staring at him as he furrowed his eyebrows. Malik flinched in his corner when the other shifted, turning his head quickly to the side as if he'd expected to be hit. Arms still tied in front of him, he was in all honesty caged, completely at his captors mercy. And all though he fought back, Malik was still afraid of what would happen when he did. He did not want to be hurt. He was not that strong. He was too...pathetic.

"Malik..."

"Why don't you s-say something other than my name, freak!? I don't want to hear it again from y-you!" His voice wavered as he cowered. Before, there had been space between them, and Mariku had not seemed nearly as threatening. But now, as he shivered beneath him, the situation was much more terrifying and real. He did not feel as confident as he had before, and was petrified of what would happen to him. Mariku could just kill him any time, any time at all. Just reach out and strangle him...like...before. Malik almost sobbed.

"I do not wish you discomfort, but if you continue to speak to me like you are doing so now, I will have no choice other than to punish you. ...Malik.." Mariku glared down upon him, his facial features hard and cold, and then changed to something that looked remotely... guilty. "I don't want you to be scared of me, but I will not tolerate your mouth. When were you ever so rude?" He tilted his head to the side, the bangs framing his face falling into place with the motion, making him look oddly young.

Scowling, Malik glared at the other, trying once again to hide his fear.

"If you assumed that I don't use curse words, you have another thing coming to you, freak. And don't you use my name. I don't want it said by someone as fucked up as y-"

Mariku's hand connected suddenly with the side of his cheek, the force of it knocking his head back into the wall, making him freeze as the sound of contacting skin lingered. It was quick and unexpected, and Malik froze, not daring to move and too shocked to do so anyway. Only when the pain sunk in that he slowly turned his head back, staring up at the other. He was serious, and it was the sheer force and power behind the slap that made him realize this. Even if Mariku had for some reason said he loved him, he had no qualms about hurting him. The now intense pain plaguing his left cheek told proof to this.

Grabbing his cheek, Malik screamed, doubling over and hiding himself from view. He did not want to be seen in such a state of weakness. Sobs wracked his body as he broke down, crying and rubbing his cheek in a sad attempt to relieve the pain. It was too much, it was just too much. He was going to die...he was going to die and he couldn't do anything about it. This was it. He gave up. Malik sobbed.

"Get up." Mariku stood then, towering even higher above him as he kneeled at his feet and cried. It was degrading, and he hated it. But he would not stand. Malik may have given up on retaliation, but he would to abandon his pride as well. He would not give him what he wanted. He would not stand.

"Get up, Malik." He said it firmer then, reaching out a foot to gently nudge him in the side. Malik choked a little, falling silent as he rubbed the wetness off of his face. But he did not move.

"Malik. _Move._" And he was kicked in the side then, making him groan from the impact. Mariku was wearing boots.

Looking up, he glared defiantly, light purple eyes narrowed in hate and fear. He didn't want to die like this. Not on the floor, not at his captor's feet. Yelping sharply, he choked when Mariku reached down to grab the hem of his shirt, yanking him to unsteady feet. He stood on his tip toes, Mariku lifting him too far so that he could not stand properly before he was tossed aside. Malik stumbled back, bound hands still in front of him as his back hit the wall, stopping him.

"Malik, do not make me be mad at you. I do not want to hurt you, but you will listen to what I say. Understand?" But Malik did not reply, only staring at him...and then back towards the door behind him.

"Malik...don't you dare."

Taking one last look at the other blonde, he swiveled around, lunging for the door and praying to whatever god there was that it was unlocked. And the gods answered back as he felt it turn sharply in his hand. Wrenching the door open, he only noticed out of the corner of his eye as Mariku ran towards him, reaching out a hand to pull him back, only to grab air. Taking no more hindrance, Malik slammed the door behind him and whipped his head around the large hallway he had found himself in, running down the direction he felt most suitable for escape.

As Malik ran for what he believed to be his very life, he could not help but noticed the _expanse _of what he was running through. Hallway after hallway...how large was this house? This...mansion?

Taking three steps at a time, he jumped down a staircase, only worrying about Mariku and the distance he put between them. Six steps down, his foot slipped, his heel landing the wrong way, making him loose his balance and fall the rest of the way down. The air was knocked out of him as he landed at the bottom of the stairs, coughing and gasping for his lost breath. Wasting no more time to let himself recover, he stood on shaky feet, grabbing the oak handrail and running the rest of the way down the next flight of stairs.

By this time, he was beginning to feel the start of fatigue, partly from the physical exertion he was putting upon himself, and partly due to the fact that he had not let himself stop to regain his breath. Gasping for air, he found himself lost, at the end of another hallway. Looking back, he scanned the area for another route of escape, but found none, only the place where he had come from and the many doors lining the walls surrounding him. Not wanting to chance retracing his steps and going back up the stairs (in relation, going closer to Mariku), he chose a door at random and opened it, closing the door quietly behind him and sinking to the floor, head in his still bound hands. Opening his eyes, he peaked through the bars his fingers had created to survey the room around him, surprised to find that it was a bed room. ...And one regularly used, at that.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of light, the curtains drawn, the lights off, dark painted walls, and dreary decor. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was hardwood, and the corners of the boards were carved with intricate designs, loops, swirls, and all. A bed was at the end of the room, and was adorned with an obscene number of pillows, all of which being black in color, just like the comforter. The room was large, and pieces of furniture were scattered along it's walls, a computer in the corner. Malik's eyes widened, and he scrabbled to his feet to reach it. Maybe he could contact somebody...Maybe he could call for help...Maybe he could escape! On his way towards the appliance, his foot came in contact with something, kicking it in front of him. He gulped when he looked down, seeing it to be a gun. That was not good...Was this Mariku's room? The idea did not set easily on his mind.

As his hands reached the desk, grabbing the chair in front of it to sit down, he froze, turning around slowly to look horrified at the door. He heard voices, increasingly becoming louder. Looking around wildly for cover, he abandoned hope of the computer in favor of diving for the bed and crawling under it, only a little aware of how dusty it was underneath it. Grabbing a corner of the comforter he could see from under the bed, he pulled it down, obscuring his view of the floor of the room, and in return, hiding himself from Mariku if he decided to check his hiding place. Choking back a sob, his heart rate increased and he let go of a shaky breath. He had to be calm. He had to remember to be calm...

When the sound of the door swinging open reached his ears, Malik almost cried. There was no way, that out of all of the rooms in this labyrinth of a house, that this was the one Mariku chose to search for him in. There was just no way...It had to be some kind of twisted karma to punish him of something he did in the past. Expecting to hear Mariku's voice, he was surprised when the first person who spoke had an accent, defiantly not Mariku.

"Your little bitch ran away for a reason, Mariku. I would too if you tried to keep me here." The door was shut and he held his breath, biting his lip and tried to keep himself quiet. He was horrified then as a pair of feet walked across the room (the soft padding making him realize that it was not Mariku, for he was wearing boots) and reached the bed, flopping down on it to the right of his head, the mattress sinking down a little as the person laughed harshly. His heart sank with the mattress' springs.

His heart only reached lower as he heard the reply.

"Shut up, Bakura. You know you can't keep your hands off of me, anyway." Mariku was here too. And with the door closed, he was trapped. Completely caged.

"I know, and that's why I brought you in here...But oh, it seems as if I've found your toy." If he had been able to see, Malik could have almost imagined a smirk there, before he froze. In his rush to hide, he had knocked over the computer desk's chair. The one named Bakura must have seen it. He was such a fool.

"Where?"

"Where do you think, Mariku?"

A moment of silence between the two, and he was even more aware of every sound he made, trying desperately to hold his breath, the silence ticking by so slowly that it was almost unbearable. Unable to hold the need for oxygen anymore, he exhaled as soft as he could, before drawing in a slow, quiet, and shaky breath.

"Gotcha."

The sheet obscuring him from the rest of the room was pulled away, and a pale hand reached to grab him, and despite his efforts to get away, he was wrenched out from underneath the bed with such strength that he almost believed his arm to be pulled out of it's socket. He was then pulled up by the neck of his shirt to come face to face with the man who had caught him, struggling desperately to be freed.

"Don't you fucking dare try to hit me, little fuck. I'm not soft like Mr.Blondie over there. Pull shit with me and I'll make you beg to die." The pale man growled at him, baring his teeth, white hair falling in front of his face.

"Bakura." Malik could hear Mariku behind him, his voice firm, almost as if he was warning the other to stay quiet. But the voice of his fear only made him more scared as he struggled wilder, clawing at the other's arm to be free. Bakura threw him to the ground and sneered at him, as if he was the lowest thing imaginable.

"Take him. I don't ever want to see him in my room again." He watched as Bakura's brown eyes narrowed in hatred at him, as if he had done something to him. Who was this person...? When something shifted behind him, he turned and stared up at Mariku, hating how he was once again at his feet, but to petrified to voice his opinion.

"Get up, Malik." And he obeyed that time, slowly rising to his feet but inching back away from him. SURELY he had done it now. He was going to die, this time, he was positive.

"Please..."eyes wide, his shoulders slumped, arms in front of his body to obscure as much as him from view as possible. Malik was scared once again.

"Come over here, Malik."

"P-please!" he looked up sharply, pleading for what he very well knew to be his life as he stared intently at the other. Mariku looked back, his gaze not wavering. He didn't care how low he degraded himself-Malik did not want to die, and if it took pleading, then so be it.

"I said come, Malik."

And Malik gave one last pleading look before putting a foot forward, another following it until he stood withing his captor's arm range, not wanting to be any closer. What would happen to him, what would happen to him?!

He felt his upper-arm being grabbed, and he resisted the urge to shake away-he did not want to anger him any more than he already had. Mariku led him out of the room and back into the hallway, all the while staying silent. They continued back up the stairs and Malik's hope shriveled and died when he realized he was being right straight back from the room he had escaped from. Coming to grips with this, he began to beg.

"Please, don't. I don't want to be here, please, just let me go! What do you want from me?! I-If you want money, I'll get it for you, just...please! Please let me go, let me go home! I don't even know you...what do you want? What do you want from me!? _Please._ _Let me go...!_"

But his begging fell on deaf ears as Mariku only gripped his arm tighter, staring intently in front of him, mind solely focused one where he was taking him. Malik shuddered and felt the return of tears, sniffling to try and hide them. He was a _boy_ for god's sake...He wasn't supposed to cry...But when their destination was reached, he did then, sobbing in desperation.

"N-no! No, please, let me go! Please, no! Please, _please!_" The door was opened and he was shoved in, turning around quickly to try and open the door that Mariku had begun to close.

Mariku only pushed him away then, as he fell backwards, staring blankly up at him before returning to his pitiful state. The other Egyptian looked down at him as he cried, his expression once again that odd, guilty look.

"I'm sorry, Malik, but you cannot leave. But...once you've calmed down, I will...come back."

Wailing as the door finally closed, he lunged to it and tried desperately with the handle for it to open, only to find that it had been locked. Breaking down, he slid down the door and beat on it with his fists, still bound and beginning to chafe. Seeing the hopelessness of this, Malik drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them...and cried.

--

Mariku sighed, locking the door and listening as his Malik cried inside. Wasn't he supposed to be comforting him...? Leaning his back against the door, he slowly slid down it until he sat on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, closing his eyes.

Despite it all, he was happy. Unbelievably happy. He had his Malik, and was able to touch him, to see him, to _talk_ to him. And even though his Malik was scared, he knew it would pass. Eventually, he would see how wonderful living with him would be, and he wouldn't ever try to leave again. He just needed time.

He was content then listening to his boy's sobs...every single one of them directed towards him, begging him, crying for him. Him and him alone. Mariku smiled.

--

**Not much to say about this chapter. Only that Malik will have to watch out for Bakura, seeing as he has an intense hate for him, and would like no more than to have him dead. To clear something up, I follow the anime via Japanese sub, but I like the idea of a British Ryou Bakura, even though it makes absolutely no sense. And yes, he is very vulgar.**

**One of the things I'm looking forward to doing with this is making the characters grow, for better or worse. Maybe not dramatically, but hopefully, when I'm finished, it will be apparent how they've changed. This might be the last chapter for a while, since winter break is now over, but I love writing this, so updates probably won't be too far and few in between. I'd love it if someone contacted me on DeviantArt-I love talking about Yuugiou things. It'd make my day.**


	6. Chapter o6

-**Remember, this is an AU fic, and Malik is as every teenager is, through everything from his fashion style to his mindset. -save for his gold accessories- He goes to parties and has friends, and since he now lives in America, the majority of them are, well, American with English names. There is nobody named Yuugi or Jounouchi, seeing as they are Japanese, so do not expect me to make one of his friends one of those characters. By the way, Malik wears skinny jeans. -lulz- **

**The beginning of chapters from here forth will have flashbacks from Mariku's point of view from the time which he stalked him. Almost like a separate storyline.**

--

Malik sat quietly on his bed, flipping through the pages of a student text book, once in a while leaning over to jot down a quick note onto his answer sheet. Dedicated solely to his education, he engrossed himself in study, not finding the intense need that other teenagers his age had to waste their lives away through drugs and sex. Malik was committed to everything he started-education being just one thing. This made Mariku happy.

Mariku hummed quietly to himself, sitting on his favorite branch one Sunday as he watched his Malik study. There was a test the next day when he returned to school, he had made sure to learn this tidbit of information. He wanted to know what was happening in his Malik's life-inside school and out. Looking down, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt a while before glancing up and checking on his Malik briefly, whose position hadn't changed. His attention returned to the loose string on his shirt, playing with it absentmindedly. Maybe he should get a new shirt, there was that new strip mall that he had wanted to look at anyway... Mariku almost lost his balance when Malik's phone rang then, all attention back on his boy, feeling almost guilty for not paying more of his attention on him.

Looking up from his study, Malik reached over to the phone on his bedside table, picking it up and pressing the speaker button. There was a couple of seconds before the person spoke, and Malik smiled then when he heard their voice.

"Malik, hey."

"Shut up, Nathan, whadda' want?" Mariku was at first appalled at the way he had spoken, but the way he said it and the smile after gave way to his friendly teasing. He gave his own small little smile then, glad that his Malik was so friendly with this boy. The person named Nathan laughed before getting back to what he'd called for.

"Jeez, Mr.Bitch, I was just wondering if you were doing anything today."

"Yeah, I'm studying, like you should be doing, if you weren't such a complete idiot."

"Like I'd ever spend my time doing that...I already have it covered." Malik rolled his eyes, closing the text book and directing all of his attention towards the phone, laying back on his bed and rolling over to face it.

"Like hell. So, what for?"

"..." The other boy paused before speaking again. "Malik, you haven't gone out anywhere since...then. Ya know, we're all sort of worried about you. Malik?" Malik stared at the phone with his eyes wide before flitting them downwards, looking anywhere but back at the phone, not responding.

It had been a month since Mariku had rid Malik of the pestilence that was his old _friend_; the one who had dared kiss him. But even still, it seemed that Malik was not truly accepting. Did he not see what gift he had given him? But it was no matter…he only needed time. Then he would see how wonderful his endowment had been…and he would love him. Yes, Malik just needed time.

"Malik, come on. We're all sad, but you can't blame yourself. You need to get out, besides, when was the last time you gave yourself a break? ...Me and Jordan were gonna go the party Krista's having. You should come. All you ever do now is-"

"...Fine. I'll come." Mariku could almost imagine a smile on the other line.

"Hey, that's great. Cheer up, it'll be fun."

"I guess...When...when did you want to go?" Malik sat up and turned around so that he was looking out the window, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Gulping, Mariku froze, inching nervously back into the shadow of the tree, begging for Malik to not look up. But his Malik didn't really seem to be looking, only staring off into the distance, not seeing anything.

"Well, we uh, it's sorta tonight." Nervous laughter and a pause. "But if you'd wanna go like, tomorrow after everyone's gone and smashed, then I guess we-"

"No, today is fine. Just let me take a shower or something and I'll come over to your place." Malik stood up, walking over to his dresser to find something better to wear than just a t-shirt and sport shorts. He always seemed so particular about what he wore...

"Jeez man, you must stink!" Malik stuck his tongue out of the phone as if the other boy could see him.

"At least I care what I look like. _That's _why so many people like _me_, and not _you._"

"No, it's because you wear all of that jewelry. They all think your rich or sumthin'. Just after the necklace, Malik. It's all girls want, anyway."

"Yeah, whatever." He rolled his eyes once again before returning to shifting through his shirt drawer, frowning when he made his choice and then flinging it onto the bed. "Well anyway, I gotta go. I'll walk to your place around six I guess. You'd better be driving, because I'm not risking taking my bike."

"Whatever you want, _darling cakes._"

"Sure. Well, bye." Snorting, Malik hung up the phone back on his bedside table. Sighing, he flipped his hair up into a pony tail before taking his clothes and leaving his room, no doubtably to the bathroom.

Realizing that he had time to spare, Mariku sat for a couple more moments to make sure Malik was not coming back into his room before climbing down the tree. Jumping down from the last branch, he made an 'oomph' sound before properly straightening himself up and looking around to check and make sure that nobody had seen him. Satisfied, he walked the couple blocks over to his parked car, making sure not be noticeable. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys, the car beeped when he unlocked it, the expensive car looking out of place in the run down neighborhood. Mariku opened the door and sat down behind the wheel, fishing around for his cell phone. When he found it, Mariku wondered briefly if Bakura would in fact answer if he called. He had been gone a lot lately…but it was no matter. He would call the house phone and leave a message. Mariku would be out late tonight.

-

Breathing softly, Mariku watched his Malik finally leave the party and start on his way home. Malik sighed and looked up, jumping a little when it began to rain, and opened his umbrella, glancing back and forth on the street to check for cars before crossing.

It was late, almost two in the morning, and Mariku was relieved when he finally left, being both cold and tired; now wet. Silently, he followed behind him, crossing the same street as he had. Mariku watched his Malik walk, entranced by his steps, the way his hair swished with the wind, and everything down to the small hairs on his arm raised from the cold. Smiling, he imagined what it would be like to have his boy next to him, walking with him, being cold with him, before he would offer his jacket and Malik would accept it graciously before giving him a kiss. Jerked from his day dream, Mariku's chest tightened when he kicked a rock, making it skid across the sidewalk and clang against the ground. Swearing silently as Malik froze, he stepped back into the shadow of the building behind him, praying not to be seen.

Malik stopped in his steps, glancing around nervously before gulping and continuing on his walk. Inwardly, Mariku sighed at his good luck…or bad luck, either way. Making sure to be more careful this time around, he resumed his earlier position and continued once again to tail the other Egyptian. It wasn't good for his Malik to be out on the streets so late, especially in this part of town. God only knew what could happen to him. Mariku felt more at ease that he was there with him, incase something should happen. After all, he would do anything to protect his Malik. He loved him so much…

"Malik…" Mariku would give anything to have him. He wanted him so much, more than anything before.

The umbrella was lowered and Malik spun around, facing Mariku head on. Oh, out of all of the stupid-…Mariku just froze, knowing he was quite literally fucked.

"Who's there?" Malik demanded, his expression becoming both frightened and angry. But it was set as a question. Did that mean that he had not been seen? Staying silent, Mariku held his breath as he watched his boy through the pouring rain. The question was asked again, and without a reply, Malik straightened up the umbrella again and began to walk backwards for a couple of steps, eyes narrowed and untrusting of the dark surrounding him before turning around and walking forward the rest of the trip.

When the tall grey building of his apartment came into view, Malik walked faster, running the closer he got. And when he jogged up the crumbling concrete steps to the front entrance, Mariku left him, frowning as he made his way over to his favorite tree, just to make sure his Malik was safe after everything. A minute or so he waited until Malik came into view, wet and soaking, throwing the umbrella onto his bed and nervously looking around his room, before closing his door…and locking it.

--------

Steady breaths, in…and out…then repeated; the only noise in the large white room. Resting his head back against the painted wall, Malik sat in his adopted corner, closing his eyes half way and breathing softly through his mouth. The soft light of morning didn't reach him through the window, instead, casting off to a space to the left of his dark corner. He stared at it dully, wishing it to never come near him. Malik did not belong in this light room; he was a stranger, with his darkened skin and tattooed cheeks, and he did not want to be a part of it's brightness. He did not want to be a permanent piece, only a temporary guest. Yes, he was only a guest.

The passing of time went by slowly, and at a point, Malik forgot why he exactly was there, just continuing to stare at the patch of light as it steadily grew and began to envelope the room in the color. The feeling of fear gripped his chest again for what seemed the thousandth time that morning when he once again thought of something other than that now not-so-small part of light. It seemed to be so much easier to switch of his brain, not think, and just _be. _But…doing that was difficult. This place was so foreign, so different from his small room in his small apartment in his big city. The smell of forest-y _things_ would have been refreshing in any other situation, he thought, but now it only scared him. He felt so…isolated. From his family, from his life, and from everything he had and known. The only thing he had left now was to wait. Wait for his captor to confront him and tell his fate. Whether it be death or life, he did not know. And if Malik were strong, he would have said he would not care. But the fact was…he wasn't, and he wanted to live, above all else. It was the only way to keep hope of escape.

Tilting his head to the side, Malik slowly leaned over so that he laid on the carpet, the blue strands of it now each unique as he saw them up close, no longer just a sea of blue conformity. Sighing, he closed his eyes. He had tried to sleep earlier throughout the whole night, but every time he had attempted to lower his eye lids, the images of Mariku, Bakura, and everything that had and could happen to him plagued his mind in the form of insomnia. Every time he would imagine death, his family gone, rotting away in the very room he was held captive in, doomed to a fate of perpetual horror and isolation, forcing himself to stay awake. Gulping, Malik pushed these thoughts from his head, screwing his eyes shut and trying desperately to relax. And ironically enough, Malik took refuge in the light of the morning, the one little thing that remained constant. Even if he was hundreds of miles from his home, even if he was held captive in a house where he had never been, and even if the only thing he had to wait for now was his fate…the sun still continued to rise and set. The world still moved on, and it would not end because of his grief. And with these thoughts of cynicism came comfort from the fact that he still existed. He was still _there. _Slowly, he did start to relax, and to his relief, fall asleep.

It was in the period of time when Malik was on the verge of consciousness and unconsciousness, did he hear a soft 'click,' and the faint sound of the door being opened. At any other time, Malik would have awakened immediately, returning to his now usual wary and alert self, but now, he was so tired, the night finally taking a toll on his body. Trying to force himself to become awake once again, his eyebrows only furrowed in exertion. He was just to tired…to tired to defend himself. Not hearing the other cross the room, Malik flinched when something ran down the side of his face, recognizing it to be Mariku's hand. He whimpered, scared to be touched-especially in such a state of raw vulnerability. Quietly, he heard Mariku make out a shushing sound as he drew back slightly, not having enough energy to properly take care of himself. Not seeming to mind his flinching, the touches upon his face continued, starting from the side of his eye and then slowly dragging across his cheek and down to his chin. The stroking of Mariku's knuckles upon his face paused for a while, and he sighed inwardly, becoming more lethargic by the second before it returned this time to his bangs. Malik did not retaliate against the contact(though if he were properly awake, he would have been horrified with the way he was letting himself be touched so easily), and simply let his nightmare continue to pet his hair as he drifted farther to sleep.

After what he later guessed to be about a minute, Malik felt himself be lifted up from the floor(he must have been pretty strong…which was not good). This made him more aware, eyes lifting half way to look at Mariku, scared of what he was doing. The other looked down at him, surprised to see that he was partly awake, but his gaze softened and he smiled softly. It was uncharacteristic, and made Malik nervous despite it's intentions. Just what was he playing at? The thought was erased from his head as he was let down onto the bed at the side of the room. Mariku drew back as he stared at him untrustingly, waiting for him to say something; an explanation, or a reason maybe before he killed him. Looking down upon him with that same odd expression, Mariku seemed to guess at what he wanted.

"It-… You shouldn't sleep on the floor."

Not trusting the answer one bit, Malik finally closed his eyes, the strength to keep them open finally evaporating as he fell asleep.

--

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sleep had been a welcome distraction from his hell, and Malik mourned for it's loss when his eyes slowly opened. Groggily, he groaned, pulling the cover over his head and pushing his face into the warm pillow. Everything was so much softer and nicer than the ones at his home… Sitting straight up, Malik's eyes widened when he realized what he had let happen to himself earlier. Being touched by _him_…Malik wanted to be sick. Looking around desperately, Malik didn't know if he was surprised or not to see his captor sitting in a chair across the room from him, silently watching his turmoil. He had been there while he had been sleeping, he knew. The thought was unnerving and he gulped, staying still and watching him back judgingly.

Mariku was still, one leg folded over the other and hands in his lap, almost as in a polite manner, but Malik knew better. It was then that he noticed exactly what he _looked_ like, and it surprised him. The man was horrible, disgusting, terrifying, and yet…he dressed like any one else he had ever known, maybe even a little better. He was well groomed, clean clothes and perfect hair. Ever since his first encounter with him, Malik had created an idea of Mariku, something disgusting and ugly, dirty and rough. But these things were false, for he was none of them. …In physical appearance, anyway…He was still as ugly and dirty inside, the fact that he dressed well did not change that. In any other situation, he would have been desirable. And maybe it was this that scared Malik more. He hated him, and he wanted home.

"I'm not looking at you 'anyway', Malik. Don't be so rude, it's unflattering."

"I can be as fucking rude as I fucking want. I have every right to be." Growling, Malik glared at him, hating that he was being told what to do, and the way he was being looked at. He hated that expression-it scared him. Lowering his voice, Malik shifted uncomfortably, pausing.

"…Untie me." It would help none if he yelled at the other. After all, the only way towards persuasion was to be as polite as possible. Malik wasn't sure if he'd be able to pull it off.

"Are you done with your profanity? Malik, I still only wish to talk to you, not to fight. That is the farthest from what I desire. …I will untie you, only if you promise to not continuously question me. You will listen to what I say, understand?" Mariku blinked, moving his hands from his lap and standing up. Gritting his teeth, Malik replied.

"Yes." He knew he would never be true to his word-he just wanted to be untied. To have just that little ounce of freedom. There was no way in hell that he would obey Mariku in any way.

"Thank you, my Malik." Mariku smiled, once again making him bristle with nerves. That expression seemed so fake and alien on his face. The pronoun before his name did not make him feel any more at ease, either.

Gulping, Malik subconsciously drew back farther against the headboard as his captor made the short distance across the room towards him, walking around the bed to his back. The mattress shifted as he leaned a knee on it, and Malik turned to look at him, feeling both vulnerable and nervous at their close proximity. Mariku glanced up at him before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a short knife. Freezing, Malik's stomach dropped when he looked at it, the lighting of the window glinting off of the steel dangerously. Malik lunged forward, desperate to be anywhere but near the knife, but Mariku caught him, looping his arm around his thin stomach and pulling him to his chest.

"Sssh, I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to cut the ropes. Don't you want to be freed?" His voice was low, next to his ear, and Malik tensed, staying still. He felt rustling behind him, and Mariku moved his hand between their bodies, pulling back a little as he flipped the knife around and set it at the top of the rope. All it took was a slow and careful saw and slash down, and Malik's constrictions fell away. The skin there felt raw, and he knew it was chaffed. Mariku pulled the rope away and flung it in the corner where it sat, then reaching up to tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear.

"I hope you will now fe-" He was cut off suddenly as Malik turned around and smacked him sharply. Malik would be forever grateful for his returned freedom. Lifting a hand to his now red cheek, Mariku stared at him almost unbelievingly.

"I told you that I never fucking wanted you to touch me again. Don't. Do it." Malik narrowed his eyes. He brought his wrists to his chest and rubbed them, looking down and wincing at the red skin. It stung when he touched them, and Malik whimpered quietly, momentarily forgetting about his captor. But it was short lived as he felt himself being grabbed and pushed face first into the mattress, a hand at his neck restricting him from moving. Flailing wildly, he felt Mariku lean down next to him.

"You broke your promise, my Malik. You do not hit me, or anybody else. I don't want to hurt you, I don't. Please, don't make me, but you will have to learn to act like a civilized human being." He hissed, letting go of a bit of pressure to let Malik breath. Gasping for air, Malik choked, taking the opportunity to squirm out from underneath him, falling off of the edge of the bed with a 'thunk.'

Wasting no time, Malik scrambled around to his feet and raced to the door, jiggling it and moaning when he realized it to be locked. Looking back at Mariku, his wide eyes watched as the other left the bed and made his way towards him. Taking a wrong step back, he fell backwards most graciously, making another 'thunk' sound. Terrified, Malik found himself back in his most favored corned, shivering from fear of what would happen to him. He should have just kept still, kept quiet, instead of retaliating and opening his mouth. He only had himself to blame, but it didn't make him less petrified when Mariku towered over him.

He kneeled down and Malik screamed when he grabbed his wrists, wrenching them away from him and squeezing. The pain was absolutely horrific, and he cried with the feeling of his raw wrists being abused, almost as if they were on fire. Malik struggled for a while, jerking his arms back, but it only made the pain intensify, and Mariku held strong, staring at him…always staring at him. Pursing his lips together, Malik tried desperately not to scream again when Mariku gave one last squeeze, the sound bubbling his throat muffled without a way to escape. Opening his lips, the only thing that came out was a low, soft cross between a whimper and a moan. Unwillingly, he began to cry silently, the liquid spilling over his cheeks and dripping onto his leg.

Flinching, Malik looked up when Mariku leaned forward, looking at him intensely before drawing away. The motion was sudden and Malik froze when he lifted one of his wrists to his lips, kissing it softly and slowly. His tears stopping momentarily, Malik watched in morbid horror as the action was repeated, Mariku kissing his wrist everywhere where they had been hurt, almost as in apology before switching to the other and repeating the process. The feeling of his lips against his wrists was terrifying, and it reminded him of how very defenseless and out of control he was, not even able to draw away. And it was because of this that Malik knew he was not in control, and he never would be. He was completely at his captor's mercy.

"We need to talk now, Malik. It cannot go on like this." Malik did not retaliate, and Malik did not reply. Mariku frowned softly at his fear and sudden and uncharacteristic submission.

"You are here because I love you, and I don't think I could ever say that with more honesty. I love you with everything I am, and everything I ever could be, you must realize this first. You-…Malik, I will never let you leave. I have known you for so long, Malik, and only now do I _finally_ have you with me, I will not let this opportunity go to waste. I took you not for whatever you think, but because I _love you_, and out of necessity. Eventually you will love me too, my beautiful Malik, and then you will not want to leave me, I know this for a fact. You will see everything I do for you, it will just take time. Please, don't be sad, you will love it here. I will take care of you. Every morning I will be there for you, I will love you and I will hold you. Whatever you wish to have, you will have, Malik. Never again will you have to worry about education, or bills, or food, I will take care of it all. It's all I want-to take care of you. Don't you understand? I _love_ you. Everything about you, from your eyes, to your nose, to your neck, to your legs, and to your wrists." He took one forward and kissed it softly, as if in emphasis. "I will worship you, for it is only what you deserve. You are so beautiful…I am blessed to have you with me. My beautiful, beautiful Malik! O-oh god, I love you!" And he was tugged forward, Mariku leaning in the rest of the way…kissing him, eyes closed. Malik struggled, not believing what was happening to him, but as he pulled away into the corner, Mariku only leaned over him, trapping his arms above his head, so that his head rested against the wall. Malik did not ever think that there was a time before where he had been so scared, from his abusive father, to being drugged, to being hit, to being stalked, and from the horror of everyday life. Never, had he ever been so scared as he was now, the words and lips against him bringing forth tears as he cried as he never had before.

Depression falling against him with every passing second, Malik sobbed when Mariku drew away for breath, panting lightly. Hiccupping on his tears, Malik cried and cried, sobbing and wailing and keening. Mariku looked at him sadly and he leaned forward again, kissing his cheek, making Malik flinch away, horrified.

"Please, my beautiful Malik, don't cry. Please don't cry. I love you, that's all you need to know. You will grow to love me, I promise. It is true that you will not leave, but you will be much happier here than you were before. Oh Habibi, ya habibi, shaielha leek." Malik stared at him, his Egyptian somewhat shaky, but the meaning was clear. And it disgusted him, for Mariku to use the term of 'Habibi' so loosely…he was not his love, he was not anything of his, and he defiled the language of their ancestors.

"Don't try to run away from me, my Malik, please. I will only find you, and then you truly will be upset." The threat behind the words shone clear, and Malik closed his eyes, the tears still coming. Was he truly to stay here…forever? Would he never-oh god. Would he ever see his family again?

"I-I want to go home. I want to see my family. I want to see my sister and my brother, and my friends and my teachers. Please…" He looked up at his desperately, pleading. But Mariku only smiled sadly, holding his wrists between one hand then to bring the other down and slowly wipe a thumb over his cheek.

"No, Malik. I stay true when I say that you will not leave me. Please, _please_ do not feel sad. I promise you your new life will be much better. But then again, you do not have a choice in the matter." He looked away, seeming to think over his words a while before Mariku turned back.

"So you're…serious." It was not a question. Malik felt so hopeless…this was truly real. He was living out his own personal nightmare, his hell coming to become reality. What would happen to him? The idea of becoming old here with his captor seemed so…unrealistic, and if it was one thing he knew, it was that he would never love this man. He would never forgive him for what he had done. Malik was going to leave, and the only two possibilities were escape…and death. And he didn't know which one felt more appealing then.

"You will learn soon, Habibi. You will love me." And Malik only watched in horror as Mariku finally drew away, standing up and crossing the room, pausing to look back at him. "I will get you something to eat, my Malik. …I love you." Mariku smiled, making his eyes narrow as he turned and shut the door, locking it.

--

'**Oh Habibi, ya habibi, shaielha leek' stands as a rough translation for 'Oh, my love, my love, it keeps for you.' Habib(I) is a title one gives to someone close to them, this makes Malik angry, seeing as he despises Mariku. If my translation and such is wrong, please tell me. Yes, Malik knows he has been stalked, but not by who. This will come into play later.**

**Mariku loves Malik, but shows his effection badly, and through Bakura's influence and his own warped mind, he is often prone to violence, contradicting how he proclaims to never hurt him. And shits, Bigfan!, you found my plot hole. I was hoping no one would notice. His arms are indeed, behind his back. -another lulz-**

**The last thing…I've drawn character designs for this fic out of boredom, if anyone would like to see. http:// yao-ling.Character-Profiles-Malik-74533570 take out the spaces. -I am in no way conceited-**


	7. Chapter o7

-**The longest time I've gone without an update, and I apologize. But hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. I tried to make it longer and more thought out, and to me, it shows. -eh- Writing through Mariku is so fun. He desperately wants to be dominated, but with Malik, this is not the case, and he feels some inner turmoil over it. Since this is an AU fic, I have some liberties with his personality. Obviously, he is not a psychopathic killer that the manga and anime series makes him out to be (and Malik in this fic, too). I try not to make him OOC, I really don't. Tell me honestly if I am, and what I should change. Please and thanks and reviews aplenty. -thank you, reviewers!-**

**--**

God, Malik was so beautiful. Just watching him made Mariku happy. His gorgeous hair, how it always seemed to fall into place, not matter how long or short he fussed with it. And his nose, too! Like how if Malik got annoyed, he'd make that silly little expression where his nose wrinkled up a little, a pout gracing his lips. The way he talked, he would pause before speaking, as if to think of what to say, always prepared and thoughtful. When he changed his clothes, he would criticize himself in the mirror, even though Mariku knew that there was absolutely no need. Maybe his stomach was the most attractive thing about him, all dark smooth skin. Malik was so gorgeous, everything about him was absolutely perfect. Mariku wanted him so badly.

Mariku shifted, watching from afar as Malik picked out groceries, a weekly chore. He would look at the price and glance back at his list, debating the buy. More then often, he put the merchandise back on the shelf. Money, money, money. Always money. Rubbing his hands onto his pants, Mariku itched to pay for him, to be Malik's only benefactor, so he could buy whatever he wished. And of course, Mariku would spoil him with lavish gifts. But Malik would deserve every ounce of it.

A sudden vibrate from his cell phone made Mariku jump up surprised, looking around nervously at the people who turned to watch him. He fumbled with it through his pocket, the vibrations increasing in volume almost like the cell phone was annoyed at how long he was taking. Mariku flipped it up when he finally got a hold of it, putt off at how much attention it had created.

"What?" he snapped, not bothering to look at the number.

"God, Mariku, not even a hello. And I do _so much_ for you, too. Now address me how I deserve."

"Why it's so wonderful to hear from you, my talented, my beautiful, and my amazingly caring Bakura. Tell me, what graces my humble being with your call? …Fuck!" As sarcasm dripped from his voice, Mariku looked around desperately for Malik. He swore when he realized that he had been lost.

"What?" If his partner was with him, Mariku could almost imagine Bakura narrowing his eyes and snapping at him.

"N-nothing! I just misplaced something…I'm sorry."

"Damn right you are. Don't you dare talk to me like that again. You just take me for granted, don't you?"

"No, Bakura." It was a game of dominance they played-and Mariku always lost. But he didn't necessarily mind, finding it easier to agree, even if it was just to appease him. Besides, it was always Bakura who was on bottom. At least he had that bit of victory over him.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, what are you doing? You're usually home by now. You better not be cheating on me." Like he didn't already know the answer…

Mariku sighed in relief when he found Malik in the dairy isle, browsing over the yogurt. He could almost imagine him eating it…Mariku coughed sharply. "Why are you so uptight? Jeez, I'm just shopping. We ran out of bleach, you keep using it all up."

"Do you wanna know _why_ it keeps getting used up?" Bakura sang out his reply darkly and he heard a crash in the background. He narrowed his eyes to the phone not really wanting to know what had made the noise.

"Probably not. Is there anything you want?"

"…You're out watching that boy, aren't you?" If his phone hadn't been turned down so low, he might have caught the slight tone to his voice, one he didn't generally hear.

"W-what? Why would you think that?" And honestly, why would he? It wasn't as if he had done anything to give it away…

"Because it's all you ever do! Jesus Christ, Mariku!"

"It is not, and you know it." Really, he had spent all of his time at home! …Hadn't he? Well, it wasn't as if Bakura was home all the time, either…

"Don't fucking lie to me." Bakura hissed at him, his voice rising. "You'd better get your ass back home right now. I'm so damn sick of your creepy obsession! You're never even around anymore!"

"It's not like you're ever home either, Bakura! At least you know where _I_ am. God, I don't even know what you're doing half of the time! If I knew that you would have been at home today, I would have stayed. I don't think I should have to wait around for you all day long just because you're a self absorbed asshole!" Mariku yelled through a whisper, covering his mouth and the phone with a hand so that the people working at the registers would stop staring at him. Maybe the super market wasn't the best of places to get into a fight with Bakura at. But then again, their relationship had recently hit a hole, and it seemed all they did now was fight.

"But you always used to be home."

"I'm not your fucking housewife!" What, do you want me to clean and cook and wait on you hand and foot all day?! Because I can do that, if you want it so damn bad!" Malik wandered over to the soup.

"…Come home right now."

"But I-"

"Shut up, I don't care. You'll listen to me and come home. _Now._"

Mariku bit his lip nervously, glancing back at Malik who seemed to have finished shopping. He now made his way over to the checkout, cart brimming with store-brand labels. He had wanted to at least make sure he was safe on the way home…Maybe listen to his family's dinner conversation. And oh, watch him sort through the boxes he had pulled from their attic space. But he loved Bakura more. …Didn't he?

"…I'll be home at Seven." Bakura hung up.

Sighing, Mariku flipped off his cell phone, upset that he had to leave so soon. But if he couldn't give himself the pleasure of watching Malik longer, then he could at least give Malik something back. His mind resigned, he walked towards the exit and past the registers. Some of the customers whispered to each other as he passed (Really, who had the time of the day to gossip about people they didn't even know? Some people were so pathetic.), but he ignored them. He fell to the side a little when he bumped shoulders with a boy standing in line, making him yelp a little when a couple of his groceries fell out of his cart.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, here, I'll help you out with that." Mariku apologized, watching the boy become flustered. He smiled and bent down, picking up the dropped package of spaghetti and ketchup.

"Thank you." Mariku smiled again, handing him the groceries, their hands brushing for a split second.

"T-thank you." And maybe he had become too entranced, Mariku staring at Malik for longer than he should. Realizing this, he laughed nervously, taking his hands away, the warmth of Malik's touch still lingering. But he felt so empty, then, like a part of him had just been lost.

"It was the least I could do." Mariku turned, grinning at his Malik's surprised expression when he looked down at his hands, a hundred dollar bill folded in between his palm and the bottle of ketchup. Malik looked up at him like it was a sick joke, his expression unbelieving. But Mariku only smiled one last time before leaving, just barely hearing the thank you that followed. That moment was what life was worth living for, that one second that they had touched, that they had spoken, and that Malik had smiled at him. Mariku wanted him all to himself.

--

Mariku drummed his fingers on the wheel of his sports car, humming quietly as the turned off the fifth exit of the highway into the suburbs. The trees were bare of leaves and their branches were naked from the cold, making him feel happy that he was in a heated car. Shivering unconsciously, Mariku turned onto his street. It was a good feeling to know that he was home, that this was where he had lived for the past three years. It was night now, and his headlights lit up the garage door as he pulled into his driveway, clicking the button on his keys to make it open so that he could park. But before he could even close the garage door, Bakura appeared, suddenly swinging open the door and rushing to the car to pull him out. It wasn't this that surprised him, as Bakura was often spontaneous and impulsive, but it was that he was smiling. Bakura didn't smile, Bakura frowned.

"I've been waiting for you." Bakura grinned, grabbing into his arm and leading him through their house.

"Oh?"

"I have a surprise for you." And the British man kissed him on the cheek, making Mariku blink. He usually wasn't so…cuddly. With Bakura, it was either sex, or nothing. There weren't gushy words and feelings with him. What was he up to? "Close your eyes."

"What?" Mariku looked over at his white haired companion as he unbuttoned his jacket, sliding his hand along his chest before finishing the job and flinging it into their living room where it landed on the beige ottoman. He frowned at it's loss, but the touches that he was being given were just enough to make up for it.

"Close your eyes, it's a surprised." Bakura grinned up at him, looking genuinely happy.

"…You're not going to try and rape me, are you?"

"Pff." Bakura snorted "You'd enjoy it. But no, just close your eyes." He frowned, starting to look a little annoyed.

"Fine. …Okay, my eyes are closed. Now what?"

"Why do you sound so grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy."

"Good."

Bakura led him through the house carefully, and he stumbled on the way. It was stupid, since it would take so much less time if he could just walk without his help, but if it made him happy, then…eh. Mariku felt himself being led through to the kitchen, recognizing when their feet left carpet to meet tile. What did he want to show him? They stopped when Bakura let slowly go of his arm.

"Okay, open your eyes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Mariku opened his eyes, not at first seeing what he was supposed to be looking at. But his eyes wandered to the table, and he was surprised to see a table full off food. Bakura had cooked for him? Since when did he cook? But a kiss on his hand made him happy that he went to such great lengths just to make something for him. Of course, it was steak that he had made, since it was his favorite.

"I didn't know that you could cook." It was natural for him to wonder, right?

"I watch you all the time, of course I know. Come on, sit down, you'll like it. I made it for _you_."

And so he did, and Bakura was happy. They talked the entire time of the dinner, not having had a conversation last so long in such a long time. Admittedly, Mariku did not pay as much attention to Bakura as he should anymore, his Malik taking up more and more of his time. It was good to get back together like this, even if Bakura was acting…odd. He just seemed too happy, and, well, Bakura really just didn't do happy. Mariku shrugged it off, taking the last bite of his green beans, which were actually not as bad as he first thought they would be. Standing up, he picked up the plates and reached for Bakura's, offering to take them to the sink. But Bakura frowned, refusing, and stood up as well.

"Here, I'll take them for you."

"No! I mean, it's fine, I'll wash them. You just…sit down, or something." Mariku frowned. He didn't think he'd seen Bakura ever clean a thing in his life. But he was tired of always doing the dishes, and if he offered, then…he'd take the offer. Tentatively, he sat back down, a nervous air falling over the room.

Folding his arms over the table and lying his head down, Mariku started to doze off, the sound of the faucet making a dull back ground noise, lulling him into sleepiness. He closed his eyes, having had a long day at work followed by vigorously following his Malik immediately after words. Maybe he should take the next day off… Would it be better if he had-

Mariku's thoughts were caught off sharply when he found a finger lift his chin off of his arms. He looked up tiredly, yawing at Bakura, having not noticed him finishing. Bakura looked down at him, his head at a high angle creating dark shadows about his face and an air of dominance.

"Fuck me." He said it so bluntly.

"…Bakura?" He wanted sex…now? Right after his 'I'll act domesticated and we'll pretend that I'm not a complete sadist' game?

"I told you to fuck me. You've always understood what that's meant before."

"But I thought that you just wanted to have a good night."

"And what, fucking me is 'having a good night?" Bakura snarled, his 'innocent' act dropping, returning to his real personality.

"No, it's just that-" Mariku looked away almost guiltily. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, but, well, it just didn't seem right after the fight they'd had.

"Then shut up and do it." Bakura pushed him back so that his back rested against the chair, swinging his leg over his legs so that he now straddled his lap. He kissed him, almost seeming desperate as his tongue made his way into his mouth. It was a wet and sloppy kiss, but Mariku groaned, loving the dominance Bakura had over him. The kiss started to become more wild, and Bakura's hands grasped for him, grabbing and groping for every inch of skin he could find. He growled, the clothing becoming a wall between him and Mariku, and so Bakura tore his shirt off of his head, flinging it across the room, leaving him access to his how bare chest. Mariku shivered. Bakura sucked on his lip.

He panted, closing his eyes and letting Bakura do the work, shifting his hips sharply upward to meet his crotch, making the white haired one groan with the impact. Without so much as a second thought, Bakura fumbled with his zipper, reaching his hand down to grope into his pants. And with this, he tensed up, grabbing him by the shoulders and held him away. Bakura looked up at him somewhat surprised at his sudden action.

"I-I don't think we should be doing this."

"What!?" Bakura growled, his eyes narrowing, but not trying to free himself from Mariku's hold.

"I just…I just can't tonight."

"What the hell, of course you can! What the fuck are you saying?!" Mariku bit his lip nervously looking away. Maybe it wasn't what was wrong with Bakura, but what was wrong with him.

"I just can't. That's it, I just can't do it tonight. My heart wouldn't be there." He hissed, swatting his hands off of him, grabbing him by the shoulders, reversing the position they had earlier.

"Look, I wasted my whole fucking night just to make you happy, and you led me on. The least you can do is fucking fuck me!"

"Bakura! You can't just demand sex from me!"

"…If I were Malik, you'd fuck me." Bakura looked away, his hair falling over his face.

"…What? Is this what this is about, is that it?" He almost laughed, but he knew that if he did so, there would be a good chance that Bakura would take it the wrong way. But this was just to…ridiculous. Bakura did not reply.

"Bakura," Mariku smiled, reaching out to hug him, but he slapped his hands away. His smile dropped. "Bakura, Malik can never replace you. Ever. The only reason I watch him is because of how lonely I am without you. You know that. This isn't about Malik, this is something else. Tell me what it is."

"No, it _is_ about Malik, and don't you fucking write it off like it's nothing. That might have been true at the beginning, but we both know that isn't true now!" He yelled at him, obviously mad, but there was something deeper in his eyes, and he could not read what it was.

"You were with me in High School, you were with me when my parents died, you were with me all throughout my time in the gang, and you say that I don't love you anymore?"

"…"

"Bakura, there are other ways to say 'I love you' than just sex. That's only one, small part. And besides, you're so much more exotic." Mariku picked up a hand that Bakura had dropped to his side, kissing his knuckles and running his tongue over them. And he was, all beautiful pale smooth skin and light complexion. They contrasted greatly, down to even their very personalities. It didn't seem to serve them justice to just say that 'opposites attracted'. No, it was much deeper than that. He felt Bakura shiver.

"…But I do love you, and I do want to have sex with you. I'm tired, when was the last time you paid attention to me? Please, just give me this one last thing tonight." Even if Bakrua did usually yell, it was nice to hear him let go of his cold exterior and just talk about their problems. And this wasn't a fake guise, either.

"Fine, I will. But nothing kinky. I just want to be with you." He tried smiling again, and Bakura laughed, twining their fingers together, getting off of him and leading him out of the kitchen.

"What are you, a virgin?" Mariku let himself be led to their bedroom and be pushed down onto the bed. But not roughly. Bakura stayed true to his promise, and was not rough.

Deep down, Mariku wondered if everything he had told Bakura was true or not.

Malik was just a substitution. …Right?

---

Gulping, Malik gripped the edge of the toilet seat, the familiar pressure at the underside of his chin returned as he convulsed before retching. Coughing, his arms shook from holding himself up for so long. Closing his eyes, Malik felt even sicker as Mariku kneeled next to him, holding his hair from his face as he threw up for the third time that day. His stomach lurched, and he dry heaved, having nothing left to rid his stomach of. Malik choked and he wiped the corner of his mouth, disgusted with what his body could do.

"I want a shower."

It was the third day of his hell, since Mariku had proclaimed love to him and had all but enslaved him to the white room with blue carpeting. He had spent the first day alone, huddled in his corner, crying and screaming to be let out, to be let go, but his pleads went unnoticed and the only thing he had gained from his turmoil was a sore throat and blood shot eyes. The day had passed slowly, and at periods, he would calm down, telling himself over and over that it would 'be okay,' even though he knew it wouldn't. And when he had run out of strength to cry, Malik became bored. There was nothing left to occupy him with, the room bare and blank. So with little else to do, Malik thought. He thought about his friends, about school, about the job he had applied for, about his family, and about everything he had taken for granted. Malik wondered if anybody was looking for him, if Isis and Rishid had filed a missing persons report. But being the ever faithful pessimist, Malik knew that there was nobody coming to save him. Nobody cared. He was poor, and he was of a different race; what would the police care if a nobody like him went missing? Absolutely nothing. Malik fell into depression.

Awaking to the second day was one of the most difficult things he had ever done in his life, lifting his eyes knowing that he was waking to nothing but hell, the only thing to console him was that he was not dead yet. He had cried again that morning. It was around mid afternoon that the door opened once again, and he stopped crying immediately to glare at Mariku as he slowly made his way towards him, although he knew he looked less than intimidating. Hands behind his back, he kneeled down in front of him, and Malik inched closer into the wall, narrowing his eyes warily. Smiling, Mariku moved his hands from behind his back and presented him with a package wrapped in gold paper. He had refused it, but Mariku pushed it towards him, urging him to open it, and with little else to occupy him with, he did. Tearing at the wrapping paper, he threw it towards Mariku, aiming for his face but falling short in front of his lap. Looking down, he saw the book he had seen so long ago and had wanted desperately, unable to buy it out of his financial disposition. Glancing up at his captor, Mariku smiled at him, making him scowl, burning with hate. He did not want presents, he wanted to go home. Malik did not want anything that Mariku gave him. Picking up the book, Malik threw it at him, screaming, but he did not forget what had happened before, and this time, he did not hit. Just…yelled. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately… Mariku had caught it, but did not yell back, or even say a thing, only waited until his throat began to hurt again before softly grabbing his hand and placing the book back into his keep. He had wrenched his hand away quickly, pulling it to his chest, but kept the book. Even if Mariku had given it to him, he needed something to take his mind off of his depression. Mariku stayed with him a while as he flipped through the pages before he felt him staring at him and growled, turning himself around so that he faced the corner. Hating to have his back vulnerable, Malik glanced over his shoulder to hiss at Mariku, who was now leaned back, his arms behind him. Mariku gave his alien smile and he gulped, scared of that expression; there was nothing to smile about. His voice wavering, Malik told him to leave, and to his surprise, he did, parting with a reminder that he loved him. Malik wanted to be sick. That night, he had gained courage to move to the bed at the other side of the room, sitting on it and sliding under the covers, pulling them close around him and hugging them to his body, almost as they made him feel safe. Having brought the book with him, he was surprised once again when something fell from the back of it, picking it up and realizing it to be a letter. Having always had good sight in the dark, Malik read it, feeling sick afterwards as his hands shook, the letter falling onto his lap. It's entirety was filled with the scribbles of Mariku's handwriting, each sentence delving into the sick thing he called 'love.' And although it wasn't any different from what he had told him earlier, it made him feel trapped. Malik was alone.

"There's one right here."

"That means leave."

Standing up on wobbly legs, Malik hit Mariku's hand away from his neck, leaning on the edge of the sink. Mariku looked at him worriedly, reaching to his face to touch his cheek, but Malik cowered away, glaring at him. He hated to be seen in such vulnerability.

"Malik, are you sure? You seem so sick…Will you be okay?" He looked at him judgingly, and he scowled to hide his depression.

"I think I can take a fucking shower by myself. Or do you want to stay, you sick pervert?" Malik did not want to know the answer to that question, he really didn't, but blaming his fear onto Mariku helped make him feel more in control of the situation. But he was still scared to undress there, in the same house as him; he did not trust Mariku, after he had degraded him so far as to kissing him, and did not want to know the extent to which he…loved him.

"…The conditioner is in the cupboard. I'm going to go get you clean clothes." Trying once again to touch him, Malik tensed and pushed himself into a corner, watching as he left, their eyes meeting for a while, and he shivered when the door closed, Mariku leaving him be.

Sitting for a couple of minutes, Malik waited to see if he would come back before slowly making his way to the door and locking it. Turning around, he looked dejectedly out a window over the large bath, the pattering of rain against the panes making him feel once again depressed-Malik used to love going out on rainy days. Shrugging it away, he lifted the bottom of his shirt over his head, the feeling of fabric sliding over his bare skin oddly uncomfortable. Half naked, he hugged the shirt to his chest, scared to let it go, almost as if it was a life line, before slowly dropping it to the floor. Undressing the rest of the way, he opened the door and kicked his clothes into the main room, relocking it. Malik shivered again, running his hands up and down his arms to make friction, the tiles of the bathroom cold underneath his feet. It was March now, the snow slowly turning into rain as it beat against the windows, and he took comfort in it's soft, rhythmic noise. His feet making a quiet padding noise across the floor, he grabbed a couple bottles of hair supplies and shower gels, turning the knob of the shower and drawing back quickly when it was too hot. Adjusting the temperature, Malik stepped in, the feeling of the water beating down on his head familiar, having took a shower every morning for the past four years of his life. Malik slid the door closed and moved to the corner of the shower, something he was now very prone to doing, the feeling of being as far away from the door as possible making his nerves and fear settle a bit.

The bathroom adjoining the white room was in all honesty luxurious, with sand colored tiles and matching vanity, windows and mirrors lining the walls. An array of bottles and containers were set out on the counter and around the room, all very expensive and pricey looking. Having always wanted a bathroom just like this one, Malik all but broke down, now finally seeing the life he dreamed of, but having everything taken from him in the process. With everything gone, and the things he had always wanted coming into play, what was there left to sacrifice without his consent? Picking a random bottle, Malik lifted it up to look at it, popping the cap and pouring the liquid onto his palm. The smell of lavender was strong, and he rubbed it into his hair, glad to be clean, having not taken a shower since the day he had been…abducted. His stomach dropping, Malik gulped, trying to ignore the feeling of horror eating away at his insides. Every time he thought about what was happening to him, the same feelings of hopelessness, terror, and depression hit him over like a wave. Taking in a shaky breath, he lathered the shampoo into his hair, closing his eyes when it began to drip into his face, stuffing down his fear.

By the time he stepped out of the shower, the water had turned cold and his fingers were pruned. Grabbing onto the rail of the door, Malik swore when he slipped on the wet tiles, making his heart start beating faster. Standing up properly, he grabbed a towel off of the edge of the vanity and flipped his hair upside down, shaking it out and drying it. Wrapping it around his waist, the cold air hit him once again and he shivered, teeth chattering. Malik clenched his jaw to stop his chattering before opening the door to get his clothes. Leaning down to get them, he was confused when they were not next to the door where he had tossed them previously. Glancing up, Malik froze when he saw Mariku sitting on the bed, silently watching him. He gulped, not moving, fear freezing him in place at being looked at with the only thing covering his nakedness a thin towel. Malik tightened it around his waist.

"I brought you some new clothes, your old ones got too dirty to wear again." Mariku's expression stayed emotionless, only leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"I don't want those, I want my uniform back." Carefully stepping back, Malik hid himself behind the door, keeping his body safe from scrutinization. Letting go of his school uniform would mean letting go of the last shred of material possession he had, save for his gold accessories, which currently resided on the bathroom counter. And in turn, it meant giving up the last aspect of his old life, forced to partake in every thing this knew one had. That was the farthest from what he wanted.

"No, Malik, they're dirty. I just have to wash them, and then I'll give them back." Malik narrowed his eyes, having little other choice than to trust that they would be returned to him.

"Fine." He waited for Mariku to leave so that he could change, and growled at him when he didn't. "What? What are you waiting for? Leave so I can change!"

Mariku gave his smile then, his eyes narrowing almost eerily, and picked up the shirt next to him, lifting it so that he could see, before setting it back down next to him. "Just come over here and get it, Malik, you don't want to stay in the bathroom all day, do you?"

"Why can't you just leave!?" Completely horrified, Malik yelled at him, trying in any way to try and get Mariku to leave him his privacy. Malik did not want to be out in the open and to have Mariku stare at him with only the flimsy blue towel to hide himself from his piercing purple eyes.

"Because I don't want to."

Turning his head away from the door, he bit his lip, holding back the cry he so wanted to let go, making his shoulders shake in the process. What was wrong with him? Why didn't he have even have enough courage to simply cross the room and take the clothes from him? Malik knew the answer, and it only made him feel worse. He knew that Mariku would wait as long as it took for him to crack, it then being no use to wait for him to eventually leave. His choices were few, and Malik knew that he had no other choice than to give in. And maybe it…wouldn't be that bad. He almost laughed.

"Please, Mariku, you…don't even know. I…please Mariku, I am even asking you nicely to leave. See? I can talk civilized. There, you've gotten what you want, so will you please leave, for me?" Talking in a soft, quiet voice, his stomach churned at the thought of pleading. But he'd gladly kiss his feet in favor of his other option, even if it repulsed him. God, how low would he sink for this, going so far as to toss away his pride?

Tilting his head to his side, the corner of Mariku's mouth twitched up, almost as if he was pleased. He closed his eyes and nodded his head, and Malik was reminded of a teacher he once had who did the exact same thing. She passed him with flying grades, but he didn't think he'd ever met anyone bitchier. And that said something, having gone to school with some of the most irritable and nasty girls on the face of the world. He'd be glad to have her back, now.

"I'm glad that you're learning, Malik, but one of the first things to know when persuading someone is to never remind them of what they want from you. …" Still smiling, Mariku's eyes were oddly cold, something even different from how they usually seemed to lack depth. Now, they were resigned and hard, not wavering like Malik's own as he stared back at him, starting to feel the tell-tale signs of tears. Mariku would not give in. "But for your…efforts…I will bring you something very nice, and I know that you'll love it. But now, you need to get dressed."

Knowing that he had to cross the room had not before seemed as scary as it did now, Mariku being resolved with staying, and Malik was not stupid knowing why exactly he _wanted _to stay. Malik had known since he met him that something was…not right with Mariku, from the moment he had run his hand over his thigh. There was something underneath the way he looked at him, _always _watching him, and his forced kiss gave way to it. When he had trapped him, his body smothering over his own, he had crossed the silent boundary of his personal space, and even with his eyes closed, Malik could feel everything that had happened to him then. The lips on his own, almost desperate as he kissed him, the hand on his body as he groped him, trying to pull him closer than seemed possible. Tainting him, Malik knew what he wanted. Malik would not let himself be raped again.

And so without further thought, he crossed the room, head held up high as he dared his way towards his nightmare, ignoring the butterflies of fear dancing in his chest. He stopped in front of Mariku, almost proud of himself for his bravery, reaching out his hand and demanding the clothes. Mariku blinked, and then smiled softly. Reaching next to him, he handed him the clothes, all perfectly folded; neat and clean. Malik sighed inwardly at his own personal victory over his fear, not letting himself show his inner cowardice, but his eyes snapped up when Mariku's hand did not leave from his.

Again, he was being touched. With the same disturbing smile, Mariku took his hand in his, grabbing it for keep, his thumb rubbing small circles onto the back of his palm. Mariku stood up, the height Malik had over him sitting now gone as he towered a good couple of inches above him. Closing his eyes, Mariku leaned toward him a slight bit before drawing away. "You smell good, Malik. Hopefully you will be less scared now. You see? I will not hurt you." In a crushing embrace, Malik felt himself being hugged; tightly. Not fully comprehending what was happening, he squirmed, only to be held tighter.

"Sto-" the fear of being touched returned, and Malik began to panic. "No." Mariku cut him off sharply, burying his face in his hair. He felt the other breathe deeply then, one of his hands moving towards his lower back. His brain clicked, and Malik began to struggle to get away, becoming somewhat hysterical. How had he let himself become so vulnerable again?

"I-I told you to stop it!" Malik jerked away sharply, trying to duck under his arms to free himself. Mariku did not budge, but he could feel him trying to hold him back, it becoming increasingly more difficult as he became more desperate. His arms trapped at his sides, he realized that he would be getting no where with just trying to squirm away. Furiously, he bit Mariku's arm, the action getting the right affect when he let go immediately. Malik stumbled backwards, almost falling before catching his feet. Seeing Mariku study his arm, he picked up the dropped clothes quickly, incase they would be taken from him.

"Did you just…bite me?" Mariku looked at him almost not believing what he had done and Malik glared, wrapping the towel back around his waist more securely. It had started to come undone when he had fought to get away; Malik did not like it resting so low around his navel. He did not reply, only continued to stare hatefully at the other.

"Malik, why won't you let me touch you?" Mariku's disbelieving expression dropped, it turning into something that, if he could have been considered _human_, would have been sadness. Thinking this only made Malik scoff to himself.

"What is wrong with you? You're keeping me hostage here, you idiot! Do you even listen to me when I tell you stop touching me? I want to go home, I don't want some sick pervert trying to feel me up! If I have to stay here, then at least leave me alone!" Malik had intended to come off more angry, but all the abuse on his voice had left his throat hoarse, and his screams had dwindled to a raspy whisper, beginning to cough.

"I just want to hold you, nothing else. It just takes time, then you won't want to leave me! I have to keep you here, until then, don't you see!?" He gestured towards him, almost as if he was frantic to try and get Malik to '_see_'.

Malik hugged his clothes tighter to himself. "Will you stop saying that?! I won't fucking love you, are you too crazy to see that? Fucking god, how screwed up are you!?" His throat burned, but he didn't care as long as he would be left alone. But Mariku's rising voice had begun to scare him. Since they had met (if even not by his will), his captor had been somewhat tolerant, never raising his voice, staying as much calm as a psychotic kidnapper could be as Malik fought back at him, hitting and screaming as much as he could. Seeing him becoming angry was something Malik had not wanted to witness, scared for his own safety. After he had been choked, drugged, and abused, there was no knowing what would happen to him, even if Mariku had said that he…_loved _him. Obviously, Mariku's idea of love strayed far from it's origin, even if the real definition was a lie itself.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be talking to me like you are now." His voice dangerously low, Mariku looked up darkly at him, making Malik gulp. He wasn't sure if this side of his personality was better, or the 'loving' one. At least he could deal with anger and hate, but Malik could not cope with 'love'.

"Well if you were me, you would be doing the exact same thing."

"But I'm not, and when I tell you that you won't hit me, you'll listen!" And he was mad now, very, very mad. Malik flinched back, Mariku starting to remind him of his father and the abuse he endured then. He did not want to relive that ever again. Malik was scared.

"I-I didn't hit you, I bit you!" But even if he was horribly scared, Malik would not give in. He had promised himself to never lose his self respect, and he planned to keep that resolution.

"Shut up, I am so damn sick of your mouth!" He hadn't realized Mariku walk towards him, but when Malik once again found himself cowering against the wall, his front of courage began to break. And when Mariku raised his arm, Malik dropped the clothes he was holding and screamed, holding up his arms to cover his head, trying making himself as small as possible. His heart pounding, Malik was brought back to his childhood, the situation so much like his old life. Yelling and screaming, his father would come home with the reek of alcohol on his breath. He was not a docile drunk, and when he was mad, the only thing on his mind was to relieve his anger. More times than often, Malik was the scapegoat; and he still had the scars to show it. Both physically…and mentally.

"_You little Slut."_

No.

"_You're just like your mother."_

No…

"_Get the fuck back here!"_

…No…

"_I'll fucking kill you!"_

…

"Malik…" But this wasn't his father, and if possible, he was even more scared when no abuse fell upon him. With no where to run, he whimpered when Mariku touched his cheek, keeping his eyes screwed shut. How could he go from trying to hit him to …this? This was so fucked up. "I'm sorry, Malik, I didn't mean to get so mad. Don't be scared, I won't hurt you. Ever." Mariku's hand continued to pet him, sliding over the curves of his face, cupping his cheek and rubbing his thumb over the skin there. And with their close proximity, he was petrified when he remembered how little he was wearing.

Malik felt breathing on his face, Mariku shifting, so close to him, and without warning other than his other hand coming to hold his face, he kissed him softly. Blinking his eyes open, he met Mariku's own, jerking away then as hard as he could. He fell to the floor, eyes wide, panting and rubbing his mouth, the feeling of his captors lips on his not leaving. Then, Malik would have given anything to be sick again, like he so much wanted. To purge his body of all the disgusting touches Mariku gave him, to have the gift of cleanness back, and burn away the lingering feeling of his tongue on his lips. No, this was worse than his father. At least then, he had yet to have been…degraded, and had not known the horrors of touch, and all it could do. Malik grabbed his towel, moving it higher hastily, his hands fumbling with it for a while out of sheer desperation, trying to calm his hypervenelation. Looking down at his pathetic attempts to cover himself, Mariku bent down and picked up his dropped clothes, refolding them. Handing them to him, he set them down when Malik refused to take them from him.

"When you're done dressing, I'll show you the house."

"…I-I don't want to go with you."

"…" Malik scrabbled for the clothes dropped in front of him, digging for the shirt and pulled it over his head as quickly as he could, glad to not feel as naked. What would happen to him…? He looked up at Mariku, his act of courage now completely abandoned, showing every ounce of fear and sadness he felt, but did not cry. He didn't want to cry any more. "I'll wait till tomorrow, then. Remember, I still have a gift to give you, but since you were bad, you'll have to wait. I don't want to reward you for bad behavior."

If at any other time, Malik would have been mad at being treated like a child, but now, it was such a small thing on the grand scale of his every growing list of '_Things that Made Malik's Life Hell_'list (that he had been compiling since he was five years old), that he honestly didn't care. Mariku paused seeming to think of something before reaching a dark hand to his mouth and looking away. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over his lips slowly, making Malik shudder at what he could be thinking, the butterflies returning to his stomach. He just wanted to be left alone…

"I hear it's going to be cold tonight, would you like more blankets?" He took Malik's silence as a 'no'. "…I wish you would talk to me more, my Malik. But maybe I'm pushing things to fast…" That far away look returned to his eyes, and he paused for a while once again, the light from the sun setting in the background playing across his black shirt oddly, creating little splotches of gold. For a second, Malik wondered what he would be like if he wasn't his own personal nightmare, and was immediately disgusted with himself afterwards. There was no way that he could think of that.

"I love you, Habibi. Have a good afternoon. I'll be back for you in the morning." The moment of silence was short lived, and Mariku turned away from him, giving Malik no more acknowledgement, leaving him without even a second look backwards, the sound of the shutting door harsh against the silence that had fallen after their fight. Malik closed his eyes and let go of a breath that he didn't know he had been holding, relishing in the feeling of being alone before putting on the rest of his clothes and crossing the room to the bed, sliding under the covers and pulling them high around him. It was a small pleasure, the warm bed, but at least Mariku was gone. And he had all night to be by himself.

--

**This is sneaking by at a snails pace! But since every day is such a profound thing in Malik's situation, it's only natural. One part of me wants this to be epic. Ya know, the kind with 2oo reviews. But the other part of me doesn't want it to have a huge ass number of chapters. Honestly, this will actually probably be a very, very long fic. I have the ending planned out, and it seems so far from now. But as long as it continues to be fun…who really minds?**


	8. Chapter o8

**Thank you to all of my reviewers! I couldn't have asked for more, fourteen replies! That defiantly makes a record! So…keep reviewing, and make me an even happier Malik abuser. -it's such a fun hobby- You all are such sadists, wanting to prolong his pain, and I'll be most very happy to comply. Review again? And remember, this fic is rated M for a reason. Thanks to Malikpossessed, my new BETA. You helped so much.**

--

Malik knew he was being stalked. It wasn't a physical thing that he could put his finger down on, but the feeling of being watched was still there. When he went outside to the post office to get the mail, or when he walked to school. Even in his room, which was the most disturbing of all; Malik lived on the second story. He didn't know who it could be, since he had made little to no enemies since moving to America. But the idea of it being a stranger was so… incommodious. What reason would there to be for him to be the victim, out of all of the people in the city? Malik was nothing special.

He was paranoid every time he went out. Even the slightest movement behind him would make him jump. He tried to ignore it, that feeling of being watched, and hid his fears from his family and friends. And if, by some reason, they did find out about his paranoia, they would just laugh. In all honesty, it was a joke that he, Malik Ishtar, was being stalked by a complete stranger. And without evidence, Malik couldn't call the police. But that didn't make it any less real.

If someone had asked him when he had started to become paranoid, he could not tell them. Malik couldn't remember the first time the feelings surfaced, but it had to have been only recently. Maybe it was when he went out with Nathan to that party… remembering when he had walked home in the rain and the feeling of being watched that followed. For a while, he had tried to deny it. Because it _was _silly! Really, him, a minority, being stalked when there were so many more worthy people out there, with money and inheritance. Malik had nothing. And with keeping his suspicions bottled up without a way to rid himself of them, anxiety had set in. Every day in school he was worried, his stalker all he could think about, not knowing where the feeling would return, or when. He started to struggle in school, and teachers asked questions.

'Why, Malik? You were such a good student? Is everything at home alright?'

'Yes, Miss Brian. I'm just being stalked by a complete stranger that I know nothing about. Here, I'll start on my homework right away. Maybe tonight I can get it done instead of worrying if I'm putting my family in danger because of this.'

And he did worry. If his stalker was violent and either his brother or sister was hurt, no matter how small or little, he would blame himself. It was all his fault. He knew his sister had started to guess something was off when Malik had become depressed, even if he tried to hide it. He was always exhausted, not able to sleep with all of the thoughts running through his head, and his self-esteem had begun to deteriorate. Was he so pathetic that he couldn't even support his struggling family? Was he so pathetic that he couldn't simply even keep up in school anymore, even though he had no other job to do? Was he so pathetic that he came off weak enough that he was susceptible to being stalked? It was all his fault… He should have never tried to make a life in America.

"Malik, I need you to go to the store for me again! We're out of milk…" Malik sighed and turned away from the mirror where he had tried changing his hair. Maybe it really wasn't a good idea to get it cut… he'd keep it long.

"All right Isis! Just let me get my coat on." He leaned down, picking his puffy coat off of the floor. Who cared if it wasn't as nice as everyone else's? At least it was cheap, and it kept him warm. Besides, Malik sorta liked how it made him look less skinny than he was. He never ate very much…

"The money's on the counter, go check if we have any coupons."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Pulling on his shoes, he yelled back at Isis, who was most likely in her room, working on some part of her job or another. He lifted up his hair one last time, trying to hide it behind his head as he wondered what it would look like chopped off. He hadn't had it cut in such a long time…

Malik zipped up his coat, already shivering as he anticipated the cold weather he would have to walk through. Since every cent they made was saved, he didn't ride his motorcycle if he could walk; gas was expensive. He grabbed the five dollar bill off of the counter and shoved it into his pocket, groaning at the dishes that would have to be washed as they sat in the sink, begging to be cleaned. His shoes clunked across the floor as he opened the door and peered down the hallway, checking for anybody strange that he did not recognize. Any stranger was his potential stalker.

Walking down the hallway, he pressed the 'down' button on the elevator, impatient at how long it took to finally open; every second that passed meaning more time that he procrastinated on his school work. When the door finally dinged, he stepped inside and waited for the trip down to the first floor. It was only one story, but he really didn't feel like walking, and hey, Malik could be lazy sometimes.

"Oh, Malik, there's a letter for you." He stepped out of the elevator, about to leave before the apartment owner waved him over. She was a nice woman, large and old, but he did not like her much, biased, as she was the one who they paid their rent to. "It looks elegant, do you have an admirer?" She laughed a little, and he tried to think, but came up with nothing. The card was handed to him, and he traced the intricate designs on the cover, wondering who it might be from, and why it felt heavy. It reminded him of a letter that George Washington might have received back in the colonial times. People really didn't generally send letters, unless they were asking for money, and even less likely that they were as designed as this one. It looked pretty darn fancy.

Without thinking about it anymore, he carefully slid a finger under the envelope flap, opening it so that it wouldn't tear the ornate cover-this letter was something special, he could tell. His heart beat faster a little as he took the letter out, wondering what its contents were, and he could faintly see the black printed ink on the other side. Malik gasped in surprise when two folded bills slipped from it, catching them quickly before they hit the floor, and gaped at them both. Two crisp, green, hundred dollar bills. For a moment, he never even thought why. Why would somebody just… give him money? No, all Malik thought then was what they could buy, what they could pay off, and how happy he was. Grinning, he opened the letter.

_Malik,_

_I know that when you read this, you will not know who I am, and I have come to terms about this. But it does not make me love you any less. Don't try and return the money, it is my gift to you. I've been watching you for a while now, and I know that you will appreciate it. It is what you want, right? To pay you and your family's way out of debt, to live the life you've always wanted? I can make this happen, Malik. I can rid you of all your problems, all I need you to do is accept. If you call the police, they will not help you; what evidence would you have? And if you do, something very bad might happen to someone close to you… please, Malik, do not put your close ones in danger. Be happy, be grateful, and thank me. Thank me, love me, above all else. Remember how it is I who will save you from this life, nobody else. I love you, my beautiful Malik._

_-M.T.I._

With every typed letter that fell upon the page, Malik's horror grew. This was… the first time that they had made contact. This was real. Malik was being stalked. His hands shook, the letter trembling in them.

"Malik, is everything alright?" his landlord questioned, and he hid the money quickly from her view, trying to calm himself.

"Y-Yes. Just a letter from a relative, is all." Malik tried to laugh and grin, but his laugh was nervous and his grin faltered. A million thoughts raced through his head. "I have to… go shopping. My sister will be expecting me back home soon." Another nervous laugh and Malik fled from the building and out into the cold streets.

Malik didn't want to be out in the wind and bitter chill, even less now. How could he live a normal life again, when everywhere he turned could lead to his stalker? Even now, they could be waiting just around the corner to hurt him. Hell, they knew where he lived; what was to say that they couldn't just kill him in his sleep? Malik felt ill and he looked around nervously, the money resting safe in his pocket.

---

"Malik? I brought you something to eat." Mariku opened the door to his Malik's room, stepping in and holding the plate of sandwiches in his hand. He didn't bother to knock.

Malik was sitting on the floor in the corner, a place that he grown accustomed to staying in. His back was bent, leaning over as he read the book that he had given him. Mariku felt that giddy feeling in his chest, the one he always got when he thought of Malik, and it made him even happier that he was reading his book. The one that _he_ bought for him. He waited for Malik to reply, and his heart dropped when all the recognition he got was the tensing of Malik's form. But he had to be patient. Malik would grow to love him, all he needed was time.

"It's been four days, and you haven't eaten anything. You're too skinny-you need to eat." He crossed the room and kneeled down next to him. Mariku wanted to be so much closer, but he stayed a foot's distance away from his boy. It bothered him, but Malik seemed to have a phobia of touch. Although, he didn't know if it was just him, or if he really was scared of any human contact. In either case, he would have to teach him not to be scared, that touch couldn't hurt him; because Mariku loved him. He looked forward to the day that he would be able to show Malik this, maybe even more than anything else. Thinking of this, he itched to hold him, to turn Malik around, facing him, so that he could kiss him and pet him and touch him. His beautiful, beautiful boy… Mariku let out a sigh, repressing the feeling. If he made love to him now, Malik would be petrified, and there would be a chance that he would never forgive him. It would just take patience.

"I don't have to eat. Fuck off." Malik bristled, gritting his teeth. He continued to stare down at the book, but Mariku could tell that he was not reading it anymore.

"You do. I will not let you starve, and while you live here, you will listen to what I tell you. And don't use that kind of language with me." He loved him, he really did, and was scared when felt the impulse to hit him when he back talked. Mariku didn't want to hurt his Malik… But yet, there was something deep down that wanted to see him suffer. To see him pay for… everything. Malik was so beautiful when he cried… He felt like he was going to be sick. Malik did not reply, only continued to stare down at the book.

"Here, I made you some sandwiches." He reached out to his shoulder, turning him so Malik could see what he made. Looking up at him, Malik shrugged away quickly, staring untrustingly at him.

"…What kind." He said it as a statement, not a question, almost as if he was afraid to ask.

Mariku smiled, glad that he was talking. "It's chicken. I didn't know what you wanted, so I just made you what Bakura likes to have." At the mention of Bakura, Malik tensed again. Oh, but that was right. They had met only once, and Bakura had been horrible. Just the thought of him was undoubtedly scary to Malik, the idea that he was in the same house off putting.

"I'm a vegetarian." He frowned. Mariku did not know that. It was true that he had never seemed to eat meat, but he thought it was just because Malik was so picky.

"Oh."

They looked at each other for a little while, Malik with his arms close to him, book in hand, trying to make himself appear smaller, and Mariku kneeling, holding the plate. Again, he was unbelievably happy. Here he was, looking at Malik, and having Malik looking back at him, only him. He was in the same room as him, so close. So, so, so, so close that he could reach out and touch him, run his hand down his pretty pretty face and take him. Make him scream and writhe and moan and cry, all for him. Mariku groaned inwardly. More and more often he began to imagine these things, and the more he did, the farther away it seemed that he _would_ be able to share passion with Malik.

"I won't eat anything with meat on it. I don't care, you can't make me." Malik growled, seeming to try and be as stubborn as possible.

"What would you like, then?" Mariku smiled softly, trying to calm his Malik's nerves.

"Nothing." He was so resigned…

"I already told you that you're going to eat today. Here, why don't you come downstairs with me so you can pick something out?"

Malik looked up suddenly, his expression a cross between shock and fear. He bit his lip, and Mariku could see him calculating what that meant, darting his eyes towards the door. Mariku knew he wanted to leave, and taking him out of his room would just give encouragement to him trying to escape. But Mariku was careful and cautious; he wouldn't let him leave so easily. Malik would stay here. Forever with him.

"I-I don't…" Malik's voice wavered nervously. He had left his room only once, and the result was not something that he would want to repeat.

"You need to exercise, even if it's just a little bit. Malik, did you really think I was going to keep you in here for the rest of your life?" Mariku smiled at him, but deep down, the thought of having Malik locked away was arousing. Malik would be his treasure, his secret to claim. His smile didn't waver. "I want you to be happy here. And if you're good and trustful, I'll let you out every day." Malik scowled.

"I'm not a child! I can leave if I want!" But they both knew this wasn't true, and this only made Malik even more upset.

Mariku sighed, closing his eyes. Why was Malik so stubborn? Couldn't he just… be nice? Hadn't he learned that screaming got him no where? He told himself inwardly that it would just take time, but the excuse was getting old. Mariku deserved respect after all he had gone through to bring him here, and did not need Malik mouthing off to him. He knew Malik was scared, that his strong and unbreaking exterior was only a guise to hide his fear, but it made no difference. Mariku would not be yelled at.

"How man times have I told you that I do not tolerate you raising your voice?" Malik cowered, still glaring. "You are coming downstairs with me."

And without any further thought, he stood up and grabbed Malik's arm, wrenching him to his feet. Malik gulped, trying to pull away, but Mariku held strong. He tugged harshly and Malik stumbled towards him, yelping a little from the suddenness. Mariku grabbed his hand and squeezed faintly, as if in reassurance. But even just the small gesture spiraled Malik into hysteria, as if holding his hand was like touching fire. Malik pulled and pulled, trying to get away, his front of courage dropping. A minute or so went by, and his resistance didn't stop. Only when he became tired did his shoulders slump, his hand going lax; Malik gave in, his head bowed. Malik was learning, Malik did not hit.

"It's okay, Malik, I'm not going to hurt you." Another smile, and he rubbed his thumb on the back of his hand, making Malik shiver.

"You don't need to hold my hand. I can walk by myself." It was such a sad attempt at retaliation.

"You will try to run away, Malik, and I will not let you go. Besides, I want to teach you that touching isn't bad. See? Nothing has happened from me just holding your hand."

"…I hate you so much." Malik turned his head to the side, keeping his face hidden from Mariku's eyes. He was shaking, little trembles that reached down to their hands held together. Was he really that scared of contact? Mariku's eyebrows furrowed, the words his Malik had spoken hit him deeply, making his heart ache. Malik loved him, Malik loved him, Malik had to love him. He just… didn't see it yet.

"I…" Mariku formed words in his head, none fitting what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Malik that he loved him, that he would keep him safe and protect him, that Malik was his _everything_! But he couldn't. Not now, when Malik was so scared…

So Mariku walked, tugging Malik along behind him out the door and into the hallway. Malik stumbled, tugging back on his hand, trying to get him to stop, but Mariku paid him no attention, only turned and continued down the stairs. He had always prided himself on his possessions, his house being one of his greatest bragging points. The house was huge, three stories high and in a prime location-a secluded forest not far from Minneapolis. The city was close, but the miles of surrounding trees made it very relaxing and quiet. It had at first been a summer house, the retail value high but not overly expensive, but after their escape from their old house, Mariku and Bakura had moved to this one, permanently. And also, it kept them safe from any unwanted eyes. Nobody would find Malik here, and Malik would not be able to escape. He would freeze to death far too quickly in the dense forests before he would even have a chance of finding the side road.

Mariku slowed when they reached the first floor, Malik's hand in his making him feel giddy with love. Malik gasped softly as they passed room after ornate room. The hallways were decorated in beige tile lining the floor, the walls a zinnwaldite color, giving a distinct modern Greek feel with columns attached to the baseboard. Mariku was not an artist, he had hired a designer to do the decorating. Malik had become tentative, following him warily, his eyes darting every which way, usually resting on a window. Squeezing his hand in reassurement, Mariku led him though the last part of hallway to the kitchen. As if in character with the rest of the house, the kitchen was not a disappointment with its high ceiling and expensive décor, all painted in light blue and white. Reluctantly, Mariku let go of his Malik's hand, leading him to the small table, pulling out the chair and gesturing for Malik to sit. He frowned, posture still nervous, but took the seat when Mariku drew away. Who would've thought that just a mere month ago that he would have his Malik not only with him, but sitting in his kitchen, completely helpless and defenseless without him? The feeling of lust churned in his gut, and Mariku turned away from Malik and bit his lip, suddenly having the dark desire to take him over the table. And not gently, but harsh and wild, complete with all of the ropes and things Bakura liked to use… Mariku coughed sharply, desperately trying to subdue his perversion. He would not have Malik's first time be like that. When the time came, he would take him with love and care, not with bondage and knives. But it was so fa-

"Are you going to get me something, or not?" Malik shook him from his thoughts, and he noted the return of Malik's attitude. It seemed as if once the source of his fear was gone (Mariku touching him this time), he resumed his front of courage. Everything was fine, him screaming and yelling profanity, until he got scared, dropping the act. Did he think that trying to act scared would work all of the time, that if he just played weak and timid Mariku would feel sorry for him and leave him alone?

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something… What would you like?" He smiled at Malik over his shoulder, making his way to the cupboard.

"I don't care," Malik grumbled. He sat straight up, fidgeting in his chair, playing with the hem of his shirt. The sleeves were rolled up a bit, and Mariku frowned when he saw the marks from the rope. They were still there? Maybe he should see to them…

Mariku hummed, rummaging though the cabinets. Any other time, he would have made Malik a lavish dinner. Having gone to a culinary school as a child, he had always been more than adept at cooking, and wanted nothing more to spoil Malik in any way, even if by indulging him with food. Malik was too skinny though, even by Mariku's standards, and he needed to eat. Before he had been so very poor, and Malik did not eat much, the more money they saved on food the more debts they paid off. But Mariku would take care of him now, he didn't need to worry about money, and Malik could have all of the food he wanted. Now, though, he didn't have time to make him the extravagant dinner he so wanted to, feeling the need to feed him as soon as possible. So Mariku pulled out everything they had, from crackers to breakfast bars and brought them to the table, presenting them in front of his Malik who eyed them warily. He grabbed a bowl of fruit and set them down as well, giving him as much variety as possible.

"Oh, thank you so much. I bet they were just all baked with love." Malik scowled at him and the happy expression fell from his face from the sarcasm dripping from his voice. But he would not reprimand him for his disrespectfulness-he just wanted him to be happy.

Malik stared at the food for a while, his eyes darting up to Mariku and around the room before settling back down onto the boxes of food. He looked torn, just staring at the food like it was out of his reach. But then Malik lunged suddenly, grabbing the first thing he could reach and tore it open. Malik stuffed handfuls of Cheese Its into his mouth, eating them ravishingly, hardly even bothering to chew. This made Mariku frown, the fact that he had been so hungry without telling him upsetting. Mariku had had him for a week now, and he had only fed him once. It wasn't something that he had really thought about, having always been bad at taking care of pets. He supposed that he had just assumed that Malik would have complained of hunger… and wondered then when he had drank last. Undoubtedly he had been drinking out of the sink in his room, or he would have been dead by now. Mariku bit his lip, feeling disgusted with himself that he had failed to take care of him properly (wasn't Malik's life supposed to be better now?). That would have to change. And so Mariku watched quietly, drawing up a chair across from him and just relished in being in his Malik's company.

After a minute or so, Malik coughed, choking from eating so fast. He breathed deeply, momentarily taking a break from eating. This brought him to reality, and he set the Cheezit box down, picking through the food more slowly this time. Reaching for an orange out of the fruit bowl, Malik glanced up at him, stopping in mid-motion. His eyes were narrowed and wary, not leaving Mariku's own as he slowly pealed the fruit. It seemed as if Malik thought that he had to keep an eye on him at all times to make sure he wouldn't try anything. Eventually he looked away and took a bite of the orange, not bothering to separate it into sections.

A bit of the juice dribbled down his chin, making Mariku gulp as he watched its journey. More followed and Malik made no move to wipe it away, still eating somewhat desperately. Malik was teasing him. Torturously, he was teasing him. Mariku moved his hands from the top of the table to his legs, wringing them together on his lap, desperately trying not to give way to his thoughts. Not now, not now… he couldn't be getting excited now.

"Mariku, please let me leave."

He wanted to move, to throw Malik down onto the floor and claim him. Mariku would make love bites all up and down his body, worshipping him as he deserved.

"I… Please, if you love me at all, you will let me go."

Mariku would run his hands all up down and over his Malik, memorizing every part of his hypersensitive skin. Moaning from the friction, Malik would bring him closer until their foreheads met before kissing him long and hard. Drawing away, Malik was needy, commanding him to finish, desperately begging for release.

"I-I don't want to stay here. Do you know how much you're hurting me, how much you're killing me? I-I want to go home, and go back to my family! Please…"

Smiling, Mariku obliged as Malik opened his legs for him, permission for him to touch. And there he was, all laid out and presenting himself to him, the only thing on his mind Mariku. He shifted, moving his hips at the right angle, leaning over his Malik to give him one last kiss. Their lips still together, he jerked forward, making Malik choke through their kiss. And he knew it hurt, but it was okay, he was gentle, because Malik had done the exact same thing to him. Mariku rocked forward into Malik's body and he panted, leaving his boy's mouth to breathe. The sensation was overwhelming and addictive, he would never get used to this, his Malik.

"I- …Why are you looking at me like that?"

He couldn't take it anymore, he was just sitting right there! Involuntarily, Mariku moaned, rubbing his hand over his crotch to try and relieve part of the feeling. Malik looked at him horrified, his eyes widening as he watched him groan his name over and over again. But he couldn't help it, it was just all too much. Mariku looked up, making eye contact with him as he pleasured himself through his pants, his eyebrows furrowing.

"M-Malik…! Oh, Malik!" A harsh pant escaped from his lips, and Malik darted.

The chair that Malik had previously been sitting in was knocked to the floor as he jumped from it, heading for the kitchen door. Mariku groaned, and this time not from pleasure, as he ran after him, his heart dropping-the door was unlocked, and led directly outside. Jiggling the knob, Malik began to hyperventilate as it swung open, and he all but jumped down the concrete steps, making an oomph sound as he landed on the bare ground. But Mariku was close behind him, and he would not let him escape. Being older and taller than Malik, Mariku caught him easily, to his relief and Malik's despair. He had lunged for Malik's back and caught his shirt, grabbing hold and pulling him back into his chest. Malik's weight caught him off guard and he fell backwards onto the steps that led down from the kitchen.

Malik screamed, beating his arms, face, head, and everything he could reach, hysterical to get away. He struggled desperately, pushing down on the arms Mariku had wrapped around him and tried lurching forward. And when that didn't work, he kicked and bit, trying the same tactic he had used before. But Mariku only squeezed him tighter, holding him in his lap as he endured his Malik's attempts to get away. That had been so close… he had almost gotten away. What would have happened if he had? Malik's hysteria only increased when he found it harder and harder to get away, shrieking and clawing at the arms around his waist. He looked close to tears, his face contorted in horror and fear as he struggled from Mariku's grasp. It helped none that he was still hard, all the friction Malik was creating almost unbearable. How hard would it be if he just took him then? If he just held him down and fucked him raw and hard until he screamed from both pain _and_ horror? Malik would have no choice in the matter; he was completely helpless.

"D-Don't hurt me, don't hurt me! Don't touch me! Let me go, don't touch me! No! No, no nononono!" Malik wailed in a last attempt at pity, dry sobbing as he continued to squirm and hit. "I'd rather die! Kill me now, just kill me! Don't touch me, don't hurt me! Stop, stop!"

"Malik, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you, Habibi." Malik hiccupped, stilling for a moment as he whispered next to his ear, rubbing circles onto his stomach in an attempt to get him to calm.

"You will, you always do, you bastard! Let me go, let me go home! S-stop touching me! Don't touch me, getawayfrommeyoufreak! Please, pleasepleasepleaseletmego, justletmego!" His words began to slur together and Malik squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head from side to side, almost as if he was trying to rid Mariku out of his thoughts.

The struggling continued and Mariku snapped. Without thinking, he pulled his arms in sharply, knocking the breath out of Malik. Malik gasped suddenly, eyes open wide as he finally stopped his resistance. Dumbly, he sat in Mariku's lap as he flipped them over so that Malik laid upon the stairs, Mariku leaning over him, hands on either side of his head. He cast a shadow over Malik's form, blocking the sun from view as he stared down at him. Malik's lips were parted, and Mariku could see the thin trail of orange juice still there on his cheek, his chest rising and falling erratically. On impulse, he leaned the rest of the way down and slowly dragged his tongue along his cheek, licking away the remains of the fruit, Malik tasting sweeter than it ever could. At this, Malik began to hyperventilate again, his eyebrows furrowing as he clenched his teeth together, trying to suppress the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over at any time. A sudden rush of sadistic indulgence, and Mariku moved to his mouth, kissing him harshly. His mouth was open as he kissed him, hungrily tasting Malik's unmoving lips, desperate to memorize the feeling.

Sighing, Mariku closed his eyes, rolling his boy's bottom lip between his teeth softly and enjoyed the tremors that were wracking his body. He kissed a trail of open mouthed kisses down Malik's chin to his neck and made a love mark there. Malik was his, he was finally his, and Mariku needed to claim him, he _needed_ to mark him for the world to see, even if he would be the only viewer. More marks were made, stretching from the underside of his chin all the way down to his Malik's collar bone, his beautiful tan colored skin a canvas on which he showed love. Sucking one last time, he blew on the love bite he had created and kissed it, burying his face in the crook of Malik's neck. This was it, he couldn't take it anymore-he needed him now.

Mariku drew away, and Malik looked nervous, sensing that something was off. He wondered then why Malik had been so quiet, so good that he could work without being fought back against, and in a sense, it disturbed him. As afraid Malik was of touch, why hadn't he resumed struggling? Something wasn't right, and Mariku paused momentarily, watching as his Malik stared blankly up at him, something resting beneath his eyes, his mind not in the present, but somewhere far off as he breathed slowly and deeply. Malik closed his eyes then, breath hitching up as he shivered in the cold March air. But Mariku shook his head, trying to ignore the sadness eating away at his heart as Malik continued to whimper pitifully; he knew what he had to do. A hand slipped under Malik's shirt as he touched him there for the first time. He looked up to kiss his Malik, but stopped when he saw Malik's lips move silently.

"D-d-Do-…" He stuttered badly, eyes filled once again with fear, words not forming right as they left his mouth. "D-Don't…Don't rape me. Don't rape me, please." And Mariku drew away, quickly pulling his hand out from beneath his Malik's shirt, stunned by the words. It was as if they brought him back to reality, and he looked down at Malik, horrified at what he had planned to do.

Malik lay beneath him on the cold concrete steps of the kitchen's back door, his eyes filled with terror, breaths not coming in a steady rhythm as his chest fell erratically. His shirt was torn a little near the neck where Mariku vaguely remembered ripping it to gain access to his shoulder. Little splotches of blood had risen to the surface of where he had loved on his skin, creating a sort of patchwork design. He was so beautiful, and this was so sickening; Mariku wanted to kill himself. What had he done?

"Why?" Malik looked puzzled through it all, as the words came from Mariku's lips, not his. "Why, why didn't you tell me to stop?!"

"I-"

"Why, Malik, Why!? Would you have just sat there!? Would you have just let me!?" He grabbed Malik's shoulders for emphasis and he shook him, his eyes wide as he tried to get an answer. Malik's lips trembled, but he no longer fought back. He just took it all quietly, that same broken look in his eyes. "Would you have let me rape you? Would you have just let me hurt you?! Would you even have fought back?" Mariku was torn in his mind. From the very beginning, Mariku had wanted to take care of him, to love on him and keep him safe, and what he had almost done would have jeopardized everything he had worked for. It was horrible, how he had acted, and it would take even longer to gain Malik's trust (and love!) now. But then… there was the part of him that did not care. Malik was his, and if Mariku wanted to make love to him, he wouldn't have a choice in the matter. After all the time and money he had invested in him, Malik owed him his love. He should be grateful for everything he had done for him, and it only made him mad when his feelings were not returned. He shook his head, the war waging in his mind giving him a headache. Mariku could not deal with this-he needed time to think.

"Come on, let's go back to your room." He reached his hand out, offering it to his Malik, but it was smacked away as Malik shivered, struggling to his feet. Despite the hatred towards him, Mariku smiled. Malik recovered so quickly…

"I-I don't need your help. Do not touch me." Mariku ignored his defensive words, just wanting him to be even the little bit happier, and if that meant keeping away from him, then so be it.

Malik rose slowly to his knees, and then to his feet, looking nervously down at him, his eyes then glancing up to the forest of pine trees beyond the lawn. Mariku watched as his Malik stared at the trees, the last bits of snow hanging on from the rain falling to the ground, his expression so sad… He looked depressed as he continued to stare out into the forest. Because freedom was right there, in front of him, so close, the only thing separating them the expanse of the snow covered lawn, but he could not leave. Not wanting ideas of escape wanting to form in his head (even though he knew that they had been there since he had been kidnapped), Mariku walked up the stairs and gently nudged his Malik back into the house, the door still open. Malik refused to budge at first, stumbling as he was pushed, but gave in when Mariku turned his face away from the outdoors. Dejectedly, he shook his head and let himself be led back into the house, refusing to be anywhere near him. It pained him, but Mariku gave him his space; he had every right to be scared.

Their walk was quiet, no words spoken as he walked his Malik back up to his room. Malik's feet shuffled, his posture closed off, and Mariku reached out to brush away a stray piece of hair from his neck. He couldn't help it, he just loved him so much. So, so much, and he wanted to make up for scaring him so badly. But Malik had not forgotten what had happened earlier, and he wrenched his hand away from his neck, spinning around and yelling at him.

"Don't you fucking dare touch me! Hit me, hurt me, I don't care! Just don't touch me, don't touch me anymore!" Malik breathed deeply as he screamed at him, his posture no longer depressed, but defensive. Something seemed to have ran through his mind in their walk, and his vigor had come back, no longer helpless. Mariku dropped his hand, and was mad at himself when he listened to Malik's words and did not touch him anymore. How dare he tell him what to do?! But if he was to teach him to love him, he needed to give Malik space. The rest of the walk was returned to silence, and when they reached his room, Malik looked up expectantly at him, eyes hard and wary. Mariku reached into his pocket and flipped out a key and unlocked it. Malik's eyes followed his hand, and Mariku noticed his interest when the key was held in his hand. Malik made a move to his room, but Mariku stopped him.

"My Habibi, my love, please do not be scared of me. I'm so sorry, I never meant to scare you, but I just… Malik, you're so beautiful. I love you so much, why can't you see that? Why can't you just accept me? I do so much for you… but I… Malik…" Mariku rambled, having all the words in the world, but none of them what he wanted to say. But what _did_ he have to say that hadn't said already? He sighed, bringing a hand to his face as he continued to mumble, frustrated. Malik looked disgusted and horrified at the same time as he watched the words fall from his mouth.

"I will never love you, and the sooner you see this, the sooner I can live my life again. If you love me at all, you will see what you are doing to me, and let me go." His tone serious, Malik did not grow angry. He searched his eyes for pity, but Mariku would not give in to him. The idea was simply out of the question. Drawing up to his full height, Mariku ignored him, pushing his Malik into his room without further question. Malik stumbled a little, staring back at him, and once again, he saw the fear and depression that rested beneath his defensive exterior.

"Have a good night, my love. I will give you time to yourself, so don't worry yourself over my return. I will come to see you only to feed you, since you desire so much to rid yourself of me. I love you, Habibi, more than you can ever imagine." The words were said with bitterness, but Malik needed to recover, he truly did, and the only way that he could do that was to be alone. No longer wanting to have Malik stare at him with the same sad, now relieved expression, he closed the door and relocked it.

"You let him talk like that to you? You need to put him in his place, Mariku."

"Bakura!" Mariku jumped when he felt the hot breath on his neck as Bakura walked behind him. His many years of thieving and gang life had taught Bakura to be very quiet if he needed to be, and he loved having that power of Mariku.

"Don't turn around." Bakura growled, nipping at his neck a little as he pushed him against his Malik's door.

"Bakura…" Mariku groaned at the kneading hands that had found themselves around his navel. "Not here." He looked back over his shoulder, and the British man gave a sort of pout, but Bakura didn't pout and it came of looking a lot more menacing than he had probably meant it to be. …Probably.

"Come watch TV with me."

Bakura took his hand and led him away from his boy's room, not unlike how he had held Malik's hand earlier. They both knew that they wouldn't be watching much TV.

**--**

**Mariku loves Malik deeply, so much that I have trouble finding the words to describe his dark obsession. He wants to be his everything, in every way possible, and lusts after him tremendously. Malik's virginity is something that taunts him, wanting to claim him as soon as he can, but wanting to wait until he loves him back. He has intense mood swings, and his mind switches between these two ideas. Sincerely, he doesn't want to hurt him, but out of his own fantasies, and partly because of Bakrua's influence, he has some sadistic desires towards him, sexually. Since Bakura is the only person he had ever truly had any sexual encounters with, some of the only things he knows about sex are BDSM (as I've hinted to Bakura being into it), and so he wants to be rough with Malik. In the back of his mind though, he knows that Malik would not be willing.**


	9. Chapter o9

-1**The more I write this, the more I become involved in it, and stalkers in particular. I'm a little embarrassed to say it's become a sort of…fetish of mine, but whatever happens, happens, right? So I've been doing a lot of research on stalkers. And actually, I've become really interested in the psychology behind it. I wish I had started this when I had previous knowledge of them. There are a lot of things that I'd like to change with Mariku, but I'm learning to work with them. Based on my research, Mariku is the Intimacy Seeker/Erotomania stalker; go look it up. I was surprised when I read the definitions, hitting his personality directly on the head. Oh yes, Mariku is a creeper.**

**--**

Maybe Mariku was taking this too far. Maybe he should just stop now, before somebody (and one person in particular) go hurt. Maybe he should go home and live out a normal life. But he couldn't. Mariku couldn't give up Malik. He was like the perfect drug; exhilarating, addictive, and overpowering. He got a high from it, watching Malik, knowing that this was _his boy_ that he was watching. That this was the person who would be his completion. He loved him so much.

As the days ticked by, Mariku found himself becoming more and more obsessed. Not like he wasn't before, but this was different somehow. Before, he had longed solely to be loved, wanting desperately for his Malik to see what good he did for him, and return the love he gave so adamantly. But now it was… different. He wanted him. Badly. He wanted him underneath him, begging for him. Moaning and crying, for him. All for him. Mariku shuddered, turning back to his job at hand.

It was the same bookshop that he had first seen his Malik in, and when he passed the familiar white and red 'Help Wanted' sign outside in the window, he jumped on it. The wages were fair, and the hours flexible, but there was only one perk in his job that kept him staying: Malik. Malik loved to read, he wanted to learn, and this was his favorite place to do so. He would come here often, if by his own choice, or if he was feeling stressed, this was his place to relax. Bringing his homework with him some days, he would sit at a little corner in the back of the store, quietly working towards a better education, and a better life. It was his little haven, this store was, and Mariku made a point to be part of it.

Every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday from eleven forty-five a.m., to five thirty p.m., it was his job to clean the store and set the books. He didn't mind the menial tasks, but thought of them as a way to make his Malik's life even the smallest bit better. When he swept the back rooms, Malik would come to a clean store, and when he straightened the book shelves, his Malik would be able to find things easier. And he was rewarded at least once a week when Malik graced the store with his presence. Did they not know that the embodiment of beauty itself humbled their small, dinky little bookshop on a regular basis? But it was no matter. Mariku was falling in love.

Humming a little to himself, Mariku continued shelf-reading, realizing he had become caught up in his thoughts. But who could blame him? Even when he told himself over and over that, 'this is for Malik!', the job was still boring as hell. Book by book he had to read the call number, making sure none was out of place or section, but it took hours, and be the time he would be done, Mariku knew he would be in absolute misery. Leaning his head on the bookshelf, he groaned, looking at the long trail of books to the end of the store. Perking up a little when the front door's belled dinged, Mariku watched in absolute surprise when his boy stepped through the door. He was shivering, hair all windblown as he rubbed his arms to create friction, teeth chattering. Greeting the cashier working, Malik made his way to his favorite part of the store, making Mariku grit his teeth in jealousy; he wished that smile had been his. But it was no matter, he was here!

Taking his chance, Mariku blew off his task and moved carefully to where his Malik was standing in front of a book shelf at the other side of the store. He was running his fingers over the titles, mumbling something under his breath, and for a while, Mariku just stared at him. He was so gorgeous… the missing puzzle piece to his life, the one he had searched his whole life for, only to find it right in front of his eyes. His hair reflected the dull white light from the window, and his skin was smooth and creamy. Mariku wanted to touch him.

"Is there anything you're looking for?" Mariku walked up next to him and smiled down at him, trying to seem as genuine as possible. Malik blinked up at him for a second before looking back at the shelf and frowning.

"Do you have anything by Tony Hillerman?" He sounded a little flustered, almost as if he was embarrassed to ask, and Mariku laughed softly at this. It earned him a negative look from his boy, and he apologized for being so rude.

"Oh, I think we do. If you come with me, I'll find it for you." The truth was, he really didn't know. He just wanted Malik near him.

"Okay."

Biting his lip a little, he started moving towards the fiction section, Malik following him closely. He was in absolute bliss, and almost didn't hear him when Malik spoke up.

"He writes mystery." It was Mariku's turn to be flustered, as he quickly apologized.

Looking down the long row of the mystery section, Mariku checked the shelves, browsing over the A's and B's, until he finally reached the H's, where Malik was interested. Bending down, he found the author, and presented Malik with his find, feeling absolutely thrilled with himself. Talking to him and helping him, all in the same day!

"Thanks, Mariku." Freezing a little, Mariku became worried. How did he know his name, he couldn't know his name! But he loved the way Malik said his name, he was so beautiful… For a second, he had forgotten that he was wearing a name tag. And quiet reluctantly, Mariku turned and left him to himself to browse titles.

-

Mariku watched as Malik read, hidden behind a bookshelf. His eyes were downcast, mouth open slightly as the story of murder fell before his eyes, captivating him in the pages of that simple little book. If it was anyone else, Mariku would have made them buy the book or leave (wasn't free reading considered stealing?), but his Malik was special, and he deserved every bit of happiness he got. Mariku smiled to himself, something he did a lot now. His Malik made him happy, so, so happy after years of being alone, and he didn't think that he_could_ frown again. That's how much he loved him. But it was reaching the end of his shift, and he knew that he would have to leave soon. Wanting to talk to him one last time before he left, Mariku carefully made his way over to the table where his boy sat.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He pulled out a chair near him and sat down.

"…What?" Malik didn't look up, but kept reading, lost in his own little world.

"I asked did you find your book."

"…Oh, yeah." He glanced up, meeting his gaze, before returning to the story.

"Do you like it?" Mariku leaned his head to the side and studied him and his pretty purple eyes. What wouldn't he do to just take him home with him… and keep him all to himself. The idea was very welcome in his mind.

"Yeah, I guess." He caught the tone of his voice, and Mariku drew back a little, feeling embarrassed.

"Sorry, I guess you don't want to talk. Well, I was just wondering if you found everything okay. It is my job, after all… I guess I'll let you go." It _was_ his job, and it wouldn't be suspicious if he tried to talk to him… Right?

"Yeah."

With Malik's parting word, Mariku smiled one last time before leaving him be in that quiet, lonely little corner. It was so cute, how he got so absorbed in a book that he couldn't even have a conversation in real life, and Mariku was not mad at how he had acted annoyed. No, he was glad that he had something he loved so much, even if it wasn't… him. He wanted the best for Malik, and every tiny little thing he did that acknowledged his presence made him happy. He _loved_ that he had seemed annoyed, because it was him who had made him so, and it was him who he had talked to. Mariku was so in love…

--

Mariku was crying, and he didn't know why. He didn't know why his Malik was dead, all covered in blood, laying lifelessly on the cold, hard ground. Pulling at his hair, Mariku screamed, shaking his head back and forth, trying to rid himself of the site of his beautiful boy. Sobbing, he crawled over to him, not daring to look at his body as he held his face in his hands. He looked strangely peaceful, like he was at peace with what had happened, and there was a thin trail of blood running out of the side of his mouth, melting in with his dark skin. Why, why was this happening!? Why was he dead!? Mariku was shaking, eyes wide as the tears came, not stopping for a moment, and he leaned down to Malik's face, kissing his cold, lifeless lips. Desperately, he kissed him all over, on his forehead and cheek and nose and eyelids and lips and everywhere!, franticly trying to make him wake up, that if the more he continued to cry, the better chance he had.

"Please, Malik, wake up, wake up! I love you, Malik, please! I-I love you, I love you, I love you…" Mariku sobbed, touching his face all over, trying to memorize his beautiful boy. But he wouldn't wake up, and his head was a deadweight in his hands. Taking a gun that rested just near his Malik's hand, he trembled, cocking it. His Malik was his everything, his only reason to live. And if he was gone, then there was nothing left. Nothing. Kissing him one last time, Mariku pulled the trigger.

-

Mariku woke up suddenly, his heart feeling as if he was about to die, out of breath and the tell-tale coldness of tears on his face. Breathing deeply, he looked around, not knowing where he was at first. The ache in his chest was terrible, and he choked a little, feeling the need to cry, remembering his nightmare.

"B-Bakura." He sat up, eyebrows furrowing deeply as he nudged the man sleeping next to him in the side. Bakura groaned, mumbling something before shoving him away. "Bakura!" Moving so that the top half of his face showed over the pillow, Bakura glared at him groggily, sleep still present in his eyes.

"Whaaat." He hissed, and Mariku gulped, knowing he would be in trouble later for waking him. But it didn't matter, and he needed him awake now.

"Bakura, I-" Mariku stopped in mid sentence, looking away. What did he want…? He didn't know. All he knew was the horrible feeling was still there, and how alone he felt. "I want sex, now." Bakura sighed, turning over onto his back.

"…Fine." He sounded annoyed, but he never turned down an opportunity to have sex, even if it was three in the morning. Groaning a little, he motioned Mariku downwards, laying his arm on top of his eyes, saying that he would be doing none of the work. Mariku let go of the breath he had been holding and moved over him, kissing as much of his face he could reach and his chest. Bakura mumbled something inaudible, never being one for feelings of love, as he considered them 'weakness', but Mariku was in desperate need for human contact, and he seemed to guess that.

He moved between Bakura's legs, moving the covers away, and pulled down his boxers, touching his limp member. Groaning appreciatively, he replaced his hand with his mouth when Bakura tugged his hair down. Running his tongue over the head, Mariku found himself growing hard with every moan his white-haired partner gave. He supposed he had grown 'talented' at the things Bakura had taught him to do with his mouth, and licked all down the length, pausing at the base before repeating, sucking lightly.

"Jesus, Mariku, get to it already." Bakura pulled him away, arm still over his eyes.

Mariku looked up a little sadly, wanting to love on him longer than he allowed. But he obeyed what Bakura asked of him, and spread his pale legs. The other wriggled a little impatiently, and he moved forward, lining himself up. Mariku bit his lip and moved in slowly, savoring the feeling of having Bakura so close to him, of not being alone… but Bakura did not want his love now, only what he had to offer, and rocked his hips down onto Mariku's erection.

"Come on, work for it, Mariku." Grinning, Bakura kept his eyes closed, his free hand moving between their bodies, tracing his stomach. Not wanting to displease him, Mariku withdrew before thrusting in sharply, making Bakura hiss and grin wider, pleased. He did it again and again, moving his hips forward harshly, intently missing that spot inside the British man that would make him moan… because Bakura liked the pain. Reaching between them, Mariku panted and gripped his erection, pumping it in time with his thrusts, trying to give… _some_ bit of pleasure to him. This wasn't what he wanted… all rough and fast. He wanted to love on him and be close to him, to hold Bakura tight and be comforted away from his lingering nightmare.

Bakura met him with each movement of his hips, his expression no longer that of a grin, but of a grimace. He wrung the bed sheet near his abdomen, his body being rocked into the mattress every time he was thrust into. The arm over his eyes moved as he gasped sharply, Mariku moving a little too hard that time. Stopping suddenly, Mariku panted, the feeling of pleasure clouding over his senses as it told him to keep going and not stop, but he ignored it, and looked worriedly down at the other.

"D-Did I tell you to stop?" Bakura glared up at him, and Mariku looked away nervously.

"Bakura, I didn't even prepare you…" He didn't want to hurt him, he never did. Sometimes, he wondered why Bakura wanted it like this, and was always concerned when he would act hurt, even if Mariku loved it…

"Then keep going, it can't be helped now!" One last look down at Bakura's growling form, and he resumed, moving back in sharply. A couple minutes going by of the mutual give and take of pain and pleasure, Mariku found himself growing close to release, and stroked Bakura's erection in an apology for forgetting about it. He groaned and closed his eyes, losing his pace and just thrusting into him erratically, making Bakura moan with every move he made, finally hitting his prostate. Friction building, Mariku leaned down and kissed Bakura sloppily, not thinking about anything else other than how good it felt and how badly he wanted it to never end. Bakura bucked up into his hands, and gasping into his mouth, came. As his muscles tightened around him, Mariku closed his eyes and thrust forward a last couple of times before following him. He rode out his orgasm, wrapping his arms around Bakura's torso and rocking his hips, drawing it out as long as he could. The feeling of pleasure enveloped him, and Mariku moaned, the last bit of it draining away.

Breathing deeply, he pulled out, chest and stomach sticky from Bakura's cum. Mariku looked over at Bakura, not even pretending to be surprised when he found him asleep again, and smiled to himself softly. He moved to his side and pulled Bakura to him, kissing his cheek, earning him a tired grumble.

"Thank you." It was one of the few times he was allowed to hold him (Bakura always wanting to be dominate, he hardly got to do what he wanted without being told not to), and Mariku relished in it. He loved Bakura so much… he was always there for him, and even if he came off cold, he knew he loved him back. Mariku sighed contently, the horrible feeling inside of him finally gone. Squeezing him tighter, Mariku closed his eyes and yawned, drifting back to sleep. Mariku ignored the fact that it was Malik he had been thinking of the entire time.

--

In the end, Mariku had broken his trust to leave Malik to himself. But in all honesty, Malik welcomed him when he saw the food that he had brought, despite the fact that he had been lied to. He had been starving, so famished, but he would not ask for food, he would not ask for anything. But it was offered to him, and so he took the omelet willingly. As he continued to eat, Malik watched warily as Mariku looked around the room, his eyes then settling back on him. The food was forgotten.

His boredom was not something that Malik rested on, wishing back for the time that he _had _be able to feel bored. Now, all of his waking moments were set on escape and fear, trying desperately not to remind himself of what had happened only days previous. He couldn't think about that, it was… too hard. Malik never wanted to relieve _then_ again; he'd rather die. But the truth was, he really did have nothing to occupy his time with. Since Malik had finished the book, he was left alone to think, and sometimes, he wished for company, even if it was… Mariku's. His tormenter, looking around his bare and blank room, seemed to guess this. The half eaten omelet was picked up, and Mariku left that day, returning only to feed him once again.

However, he came back early in the morning of the next day, bringing with him a magazine. Malik froze, tightening the blankets around himself, feeling vulnerable as he lay in bed, still groggy. Mariku had smiled at him, sitting down next to him on the bed, making Malik draw away farther. But Mariku shrugged it off, and showed Malik what he had brought. A catalogue filled with furniture ads and entertainment systems. 'Pick whatever you'd like,' he had said. Out of spite and spite alone, he picked the most expensive things advertised. If Mariku wanted him to choose, he would, but first, he'd drain away all of the money in his pocket. Mariku smiled at him when he was done, and Malik was grabbed, wrenched towards him as he kissed him lightly on his cheek. Before Malik could even struggle for release, Mariku let him go and stood up, telling him how good he had been lately, and that he would be rewarded for his behavior. Malik snapped back at him, but inwardly, he was too tired to fight, and was scared of what would happen to him if he did.

A day passed after that when Mariku presented him with another book. But this time, it was not just one, but many. They were splayed out onto the floor, all hardcover and new, and Mariku motioned for him over to where he was kneeling in front of the books. Malik had shook his head, denying to be anywhere near him, but after Mariku refused to leave, he dejectedly moved towards him, staying a good couple feet away. He picked one up, studying the title before looking back at Malik and handing it to him. Making sure their fingers did not brush, Malik leaned in and snatched it from him, keeping it close to him in his lap in case it might be taken away. As each book was handed to him, one by one, Mariku explained them all, closing his eyes and retelling each story their bindings held. Inwardly, Malik un-tensed the slightest bit. Mariku knew literature, and he was intelligent, something Malik wished and thought himself to be. Unwillingly, he admired him for it, the one good thing about him. But it didn't make Malik hate him any less, and he screamed for him to leave when the books were all in his possession, Mariku not leaving. Mariku did not budge, and waited for Malik to calm before he spoke. 'I just want to talk to you,' he had said, 'why do you always have to be so stubborn? I will not leave until you speak to me.' It was true, and after about five minutes of Malik silently glaring at him, he gave in when he still did not leave. They talked for a while, and he was true to his word when that was all they did; talk.

At first, Mariku had to coax him into it, just asking him simple things, like 'Did you like your breakfast?' 'Were you warm last night?' 'Did you sleep well?', but his questions became more involving, and Malik found himself not being able to answer with just a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Mariku tended to keep his questions away from his family life, touching subjects only on the surface of conversation, never delving into anything too personal. After a couple minutes of this, Malik started to relax, becoming more at ease with simply talking. It wouldn't hurt anything to answer him back, and if it kept him from pain and boredom, then so be it. Mariku, he learned, was not as one-dimensional as he had previously thought him to be, and a part of Malik hated it. Hated that he was intelligent, that he was well rounded, and was not the in-complex person he had hoped him to be. Mariku was the villain in Malik's fairy-tale, and an adversary who's motives and personality were refined and complex would be hard to defeat. If only his knight in shining armor would come and rescue him… but Malik had no time for fantasies. This was real, and the only person coming to his rescue would be himself.

Malik's hatred and cynical thoughts returning, he refused to converse anymore, and Mariku frowned. After learning that he would not budge, Mariku moved towards him, but Malik drew back, leaving him to grope at the air where his body had once been. His heart beat faster at almost being caught, and Mariku gave up, leaving him alone the remainder of the day. And so Malik tended to the books, smearing the dust off of them that had gathered from their shelf life, taking care of them well, the only thing he had to occupy him. But they also offered something other than relief from his boredom: comfort. Reading was familiar, something he had always loved to do, and took consolidation in the fact that he still had books, that he could still read, even in this hell.

It was mid-morning (judging by the placement of the sun in the sky, not having a clock to tell time), and Mariku had not come to feed him. Malik's stomach rumbled, and he felt disgusted for relying on him so heavily. But the door was locked, and he was three stories from the ground. There was no way to care for himself. Ignoring the feeling of hunger, Malik pulled the covers off of his head and rolled out of the bed, falling to the floor when he misjudged how far he had meant to move. He scowled sourly, rubbing his backside, and straightened up, dusting himself off. Not wanting to stray from his morning rituals, Malik made the bed and drifted to the bathroom. Every morning, he made his bed, and every morning, he took a shower; he did not want to change that. Trying to make even the littlest things in his life familiar gave Malik a sliver of hope and a feeling of control over his actions.

Gingerly taking off of his shirt, Malik recoiled at himself in the mirror, staring long and hard at the hickies that had not yet left his skin. It was disgusting to be marked like that, something he couldn't just will to leave him. This was his body, and yet, he couldn't even decide for himself what happened to it. Malik looked away repulsed, feeling dirty and used, running his fingers over the little splotches of skin where blood was still raised. It scared him, the idea that he could be overpowered so easily, that he hardly had a say of what happened to him… That he could just-

'_No,'_Malik grit his teeth and dared a look back up to the mirror, meeting his reflections gaze, '_I will not think like that. I can get through this, I'm strong, I won't… let that happen to me. I'M in control, nobody else.' _

His reflection stared silently back at him, as if to mock him.

'_Look at you, Malik. You're locked up in a house with a man older and stronger than you; do you really believe that you'll escape, that you'll get away? NOBODY'S coming to save you. Give up_,_let it happen. You know that it'll happen anyway, and it won't hurt as much if you do. You're so hopeless…' _The reflection sneered at him, the words harsh and blunt. But they were true, and Malik found it hard to ignore them, to lock them up into the back of his mind.

He looked away, going through the vanity's drawers for a hair brush. Malik still wanted to look good, even if he knew nobody would see him (his only admirer was less than a person), and feeling clean gave a sense of security. Wincing when the bristles got stuck in his blonde hair, Malik sighed when a couple strands got yanked out and massaged his scalp in apology. Dressing was easy that day, and everyday, actually, with so few clothes to pick from. Mariku hadn't given him many, only a couple of shirts and pants, the occasional jacket here and there, so he pulled on the longest shirt he could find. Malik didn't want to be reminded of the marks on his collar bone, and there was only a plain blue shirt that hid them, but he was glad for it's cover. Deeming himself appropriate, Malik left the bathroom to rummage through his pile of books, and ignored the protesting growl his stomach gave.

"Why don't you be quiet, already?" Malik made his selection and leaned back onto his forearms, glancing disdainfully down at his stomach.

"Gwrgflll..." His belly gave one last growl before quieting, almost as if to spite him. Without any further thought, Malik began to read. It was interesting, he supposed, a book about the attack on the World Trade Center, but it didn't capture him as he thought it would, having been interested in September Eleventh a year earlier after doing a project on it in his Modern History class.

'_They don't know anything…'_ He was almost disgusted with himself after thinking this. Hundreds of people were killed, and millions effected, while his suffering was dealt to him, and him alone. But yet… this was his life, his _own, real life_, and it's horrors were so much greater than the victims of the terrorist attack… because it was happening to him. Malik was human, and on his perspective of life, the things that happened to him were considerably greater than those outside of his touch. He closed the book. He didn't want to read anymore about suffering. Malik tensed when he heard the door to the room being opened.

"Malik?"

"What?" Malik snapped. Who else would be in here?

"Malik, I have a surprise for you."

"…"

"Your things came." He thought for a moment about what he could be talking about, before remembering the catalogue. They came that fast…?

"If you come downstairs, I'll make you something to eat, and we can go through your things." The tone of Mariku's voice was light, like how one would explain something to a child, all smooth and languid, as if not to scare them. He tensed when Mariku kneeled near him.

"I-I don't want to go downstairs. I want to stay here." Malik cursed himself inwardly when he felt the stutter in his voice. What the hell was wrong with him? But the more he asked that question, the clearer the answer became. He didn't want to leave his room. Not after…_then._ Malik shuddered, becoming nervous with his captor's close proximity.

"Malik, don't you feel cooped up, staying in here all day? Come on, it would be good for you to walk around a little."

"And I wonder who's fault it is that I'm stuck in here." Pulling the collar of his shirt up higher, Malik bitterly replied, the little butterflies of fear returning to his chest. They should just settle down and live there, already, with all the appearances they made… "…I get enough exercise."

Mariku sighed, and Malik saw him trace a pattern onto the cover of one of his books out of the corner of his eye. "It's been three days… please, just come downstairs. I would like to talk with you some more… Or if you'd want, we could do something else. Would you like to watch TV? I have a flat screen, you know. I think you'd like it. How's that sound? …But you can only watch it if you leave." What, he was trying to persuade him now? That was something new… at least he was using force. For the time being, anyway.

"I just want to read. I'm not going to do anything with you, so why don't you just let me go?" Any chance at freedom, Malik would take, even though he knew it was pointless to beg for it. Besides, this was getting… old. He knew he didn't really love him, how could he? But for whatever reason he was being held hostage, it was getting tiring. When would he learn that he would not give in to him?

"Malik, you need to leave the room so that the movers can work."

"…What?" Did he… really just say that? Other people were coming to the house? Then that meant… oh god. THEY WOULD SAVE HIM! He could leave, he could live his life again, he could _go home._ Malik almost cried in joy, but remembered just in time to hide his thoughts. He couldn't let Mariku know what he was thinking.

"I bought you a desk and a dresser, and I don't want to carry it all the way up three flights of stairs, so I hired a moving company. You'd like a desk… wouldn't you?" His voice was hopeful, as if he was begging for just one word of encouragement. Ha. Like that would ever happen. Malik ignored him.

"…Fine." Malik stood up, and Mariku did the same, but did not hold his hand like he had done the last time. Hiding his excitement, Malik refrained from running to the door and begging for it to be unlocked. He couldn't look too excited, he couldn't give anything away. But for the first time in two weeks, Malik felt happy. So, so happy, like everything was okay. Only another hour or so, and then he could go home and see his family. Malik almost forgot what hope felt like. Unlocking the door, Mariku walked behind him to keep an eye on him at all times, but Malik didn't mind. Nothing he could do would matter anymore.

It took far too long to get to the first floor, at least, in Malik's opinion, and he wrung the cuffs of his sleeves to try and get rid of the excitement bubbling up inside of him. He would only see this kitchen twice, and almost bade it a farewell, but it left too many bad memories, and Malik chose to ignore it. Taking a seat at the small mahogany table, he left Mariku to make his lunch.

"What would you like, Malik?" Mariku smiled at him, and he leaned over the table, burying his head into his folded arms so that only his eyes showed over them. He glared in reply to keep up appearances.

"I don't care. Nothing with meat." His captor laugh, and brushed it off by saying 'I know', and Malik bristled. He hated how he acted like everything was fine, that everything was okay, that everything was _normal_, but then reminded himself that in due time, it would be.

"Would you like a sandwich? I know a really good recipe, and it doesn't have meat, so you'd like it." Reaching the counter, he pulled down a chopping block from the cupboard and then turned to look at him, smiling. He always smiled, like there were things to smile about…

"I told you I didn't care."

The time was spent in silence while Mariku cooked, getting out a skillet to heat something up, but Malik ignored him in favor of a magazine he found sitting on the table. He flipped through it and grew bored, laying his head back down onto his arms. Malik jumped when something clanked in front of him, not remembering dozing off, and looked up to see Mariku set a plate down in front of him, a sandwich garnished with a bit of parsley on the side. He tried too hard, really he did.

"Eat." He didn't really need encouragement to do so, but he took the first bite tentatively, not knowing what it would taste like, and was surprised when it was delicious. Maybe Mariku could cook, but that didn't make him any less terrifying… His stomach was finally rewarded with food, and stayed quiet the rest of the day.

"Have you started any of them?" Malik looked up in mid-chew and furrowed his eyebrows. "The books, I mean."

"What do you think I do all day?" He swallowed and scowled. Mariku looked put off for a moment and frowned before glancing away.

"I was just wondering which one you started."

"_I Like It Here_." Mariku looked at him oddly, almost as if he was happy, and Malik scowled once again. "It's the name of the book. I despise it here."

"Oh, well… is it good? I remember reading it and hating it, but then again, I was your age, and the only thing on my mind was- …well, it wasn't school." He smiled, and leaned his head to the side ever so slightly. Malik paused before taking another bite, the nervous flutters returning.

"…How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four." Their conversation stopped after that, Malik losing his appetite. He didn't really feel well eating in front of a pedophile. "…" Mariku opened his mouth to say something, but closed it after a moment, not having the right words to say. The uncomfortable silence stretched for a while, and Malik fidgeted under his gaze. He really didn't like to be looked at…

A bell rang throughout the house, and Malik's heart started beating faster. They were here. The movers were here. HE WOULD BE SAVED! Sitting up only the slightest, he watched as Mariku excused himself to get the door. Once he left the room, Malik rushed to the kitchen's doorway, watching Mariku cross the room to open the door. His voice was muffled by distance, and he couldn't catch what he was saying, but the door was opened, and that was the only thing he paid attention to. Two burly men were welcomed in, and they carried a dresser with them. He saw Mariku point towards the hall, giving directions, and that's when he moved.

"Please, help me! He kidnapped me and 's keeping me hostage here!" Malik ran to the living room, practically jumping over a coffee table, and stopped in front of the men, out of breath. He didn't have a plan of what he would do when they arrived, so he just winged it. Besides, what would it matter as long as they left? They looked at each other for a second or two, and then to Malik's absolute horror and confusion, looked away. "Please, he's going to hurt me! Help me, I want to go home!" He grabbed one of the men's arm and stepped in front of them. What… why was he being ignored? Could they not hear what he was saying!?

"Malik, they need to get through." Malik jumped when he felt Mariku grab him by the wrist, prying his hand from the man. He ignored the fact that Mariku did not let him go, only to scream and beg to be saved.

"Wh-What's wrong with you! Can't you hear me?! What the hell is going on!? Help me!" He was hysterical now, pulling and pulling to try and free himself from Mariku's grasp. What was going on? Why was he being ignored!?! Why were they just standing there, not even recognizing him?

"Habibi, they are being paid to keep quiet. Ssh, Malik. Stop making so much noise." It wasn't until he felt himself being set on the couch did Malik realize he had been slowly led away from the hallway and back into the living room. Mariku sat next to him, always holding him, and trying to subdue his attempts at escape. Their position becoming increasingly familiar, Malik was terrified when he felt himself being pulled into Mariku's lap.

How far would one go for money to ignore someone desperately in need of being saved? What amount of money equaled greater than the value of a human life? It was sickening, but Malik refused to believe it. This had to be a cruel, cruel joke. They were right there! He was so close to freedom, he couldn't get stopped now! Malik continued to scream and beg, kicking his legs in an attempt to be freed, but Mariku was strong, and didn't budge. He leaned back onto the armrest, taking Malik with him, and caught his other wrist. Not minding the major setback, Malik continued to struggle, because it was his very life he was fighting for.

"N-No! Let me go! Th-This isn't right, I'm supposed to be saved! Let me go, oh god, somebody, help me!" He continued to fight back, desperately trying to gain the attention of the two men, but could only watch as the finally disappeared down the hallway. Malik couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was just to… sick. They wouldn't be helping him.

Mariku was jerked with every move he made, but had managed to calm him considerably, physically, anyway. Malik continued to scream and yell, but he started to stop fighting, and eventually it dwindled to a minimum. He… he gave up. There was no point anymore. Why should he fight if the only thing he would gain from it would be another sore throat? Why… just… why? Was this punishment for something he had done in a past life? Or was he simply cursed? Cursed to a life of continuing horror and sadness? It was too much… to believe for even a second that he would be saved and then to have his hopes crushed down and stomped into oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore. So Malik cried. He just let go, and cried. Why hold it back, why try to be strong? It was all an act… Malik would die here, and there was nothing he could do about it. So without any more kicking or yelling, he broke down and became lax, just sitting in Mariku's lap and crying into his chest. He would be raped eventually, what was the point in trying to resist his ever present touch? His shoulders shook, and he sobbed, feeling Mariku's hand gently rest onto the top of his head before running his fingers through his hair, making Malik shiver.

"Please, Malik, don't cry…" Mariku's hand paused a little before returning to his hair, holding him close. Malik felt the other's hands leave his wrists to wrap around him, but he didn't care, he just didn't care anymore.

"I want to go home…"

"I know." They sat like that for a while, and Mariku tightened his arms around him, petting his hair softly. Malik's sobs began to subside, and he just hiccupped every so often when he felt depression returning, having no more tears left to cry. And for the few minutes after he calmed, Malik was scared when he wondered why he fought this so much. Because it… felt good to have somebody there, to hold him, and tell him everything okay. He ignored the fact that this person was the whole reason he was in hell; he just wanted to feel protected, even if for only a moment. Mariku gave a couple tentative kisses to his forehead, and seemed happy when he didn't fight back, placing more to his nose and cheek. Malik shuddered, repulsed at how weak he was being, how pitiful he had become that he did not even try to save himself from human contact. He was so hopeless… he wanted to die. The feeling of security passed, and the longer he sat in Mariku's embrace, the more depressed he became. Because this was the person who would kill him, this was the person who had hurt him, this was the person who… _loved HIM._

"It's all moved."

Malik didn't look up, he didn't want to see the face of the person who so cruelly ignored his plea of escape. He felt Mariku look up and reach into his pocket, taking out what he guessed to be his wallet and hand a couple of bills to the man over his head.

"Please, help me." Malik moved his head ever so slightly so that he made eye contact with the man who stared down at him, a last attempt at freedom. And then he saw it, the pity that showed in his eyes when he softly shook his head.

"Sorry, kid." With those two simple words, he was dismissed, sealing his fate. The man gave one last look at him, his expression unreadable, before leaving the house, meeting his work partner, and slowly closing the door. The click that the door made sounded strangely eerie in the quiet room, echoing off of the high ceiling. Mariku moved to look down at him, but Malik refused to meet his eyes. Making no move to shrug away, Malik felt his hand return to his hair. And they stayed like that for a long while, neither saying anything. Even if by the hands of his tormentor, his captor, and his nightmare, Malik would take the one bit of comfort that was offered to him.

--

**Malik has been away from home for about two weeks now, and it is starting to get to him. He promised himself not to cry, to be strong, and wait to be saved, but with every passing day, reality sinks in more and more, and he starts to feel hopeless. Going for so long without a word of encouragement or hope, and then to finally think that he would leave, only to be proven wrong, Malik naturally becomes depressed. With it, he gives up in a sense, and questions himself why he even cares anymore, and despite his phobia of touch, lets himself be comforted. Remember, though, that in Malik's eyes, love is frightening, and the more of it Mariku shows towards him, the higher the tension will build. That, and his contradicting actions. Review?**


	10. Chapter 1o

-1**Thank you once again, reviewers! Let me give an extra special welcome to Anime-fan Meepa, for her absolutely wonderful review. -insert generic smiley face here- **

**Half of you want Malik to suffer and the other half want him to be comforted. Choices, choices! Though I know how it will end, and one of you will be pleased while the other party will not. **

**I don't know why more people have not played on the idea of racism, either AU or canon-wise. In every person, there is the feeling of superiority over other races, and Malik would be an easy target for this. I, myself, am far from racist, but the insensitive language used is crucial. This is my crap chap. That's why it took so long, so please, do not expect much from it. I apologize in advance for it's…OOCness. **

**---**

It was November, and Malik had grown quite reclusive. He tried to stay as much inside as possible, and resented venturing out into the cold. Having lived in Egypt for his childhood, Mariku was amused at his attitude towards the cold and hostile weather. Mariku guessed him to have lived in the southern part of Egypt, where cold winds were as rare rain. When snow would start to fall, Malik would stop what he was doing, no matter what, and stare at it. Whether in awe or disgruntled spite, Mariku didn't know, but it was just another one of his personality traits that made him love him so.

Coat pulled up around his neck, Mariku shivered when a gust of cold air blew past him, his hair getting mussed, and he reached back to fix it. He was waiting for Malik to leave the library, and was currently very dejected. Bakura had kicked him out of the house for three hours for god-knew-what, and his good coat had been the unfortunate target of the less-than-sane employee at the too-damn-expensive dry cleaners he went to. Glancing sourly at the passer bys, Mariku flipped open his cell phone when he felt it vibrate. It was a friend of his, though, one he didn't talk to that often, and started typing back a reply when he happened to glance up again. His Malik opened the library's front door with difficulty, the wind trying to close it, but he managed to get outside. Sitting on a bench a ways from the entrance, he stood up when Malik started his long trek home, closing his cell phone. They would just have to wait for a reply.

It was a long walk back to his apartment building, but although Malik hated it, Mariku didn't mind. As long as he could watch his Malik, he was happy. But the weather was getting terrible lately, and he found himself being as mad at it as Malik was. With snow and cold, Mariku could not watch Malik at home, that is, if he didn't want to freeze to death. Sometimes he would climb that familiar tree and look over him as he worked on homework in his room, but those times were dwindling, the wind and snow making it very difficult and unfavorable. Mariku frowned.

The rest of the trip was spent without pessimistic thoughts though, Mariku finding it hard to be unhappy around his boy, and his frown changed to a smile. Just a little one. He watched as Malik fussed with his school uniform, and was angry at the school for making the fabric so thin. His Malik shouldn't have to be uncomfortable… But he seemed happy today, so Mariku could live with it. There was a small smile on his boy's face, which was odd. Not that he was unhappy, but he didn't usually show enthusiasm and his feelings regularly. Malik liked to keep them inside, to keep them safe, and to not have people worry about him. So if he was smiling, something very good must have happened.

He stopped at the corner of an intersection, pushing the cross-walk button on the signal post, and waited to cross. The neighborhood had been diminishing quickly by the time they made it here, and every day that Malik had to cross through it, Mariku became worried for his safety. But it was okay, because he was there. He could protect him. Cars zipped by in front of him, making a gross sound as they crunched over the grey, slushy snow, and Malik's bangs fluttered a little whenever one went by. The light switched, and the little man on the cross-walk signal turned from red to green, blinking a few times before settling down. Looking both ways just out of what he guessed to be safe precaution, Malik made his way across the street, Mariku following him soon after.

It was only a couple minutes until they would reach Malik's apartment complex, and Mariku sighed inwardly. It was too soon that he had to leave… if only the weather wasn't so cold, he could stay and watch him a little longer. But it would be okay, because some day, Malik would be his and they would be happy and live together. Then, he would see him every moment of his life, and he would be all his to keep and cherish. Passing a 7-11, Mariku almost didn't notice the two teenagers standing outside it glaring in his Malik's direction.

They stood with strong posture, as if trying to come off tougher than they really were, and held an air of arrogance about them. Mariku was familiar with these people. These were the people he had known all throughout school, and these were the people that Bakura would bring home. The leers they gave as his Malik passed by were so familiar that they hurt, and Mariku struggled with himself to run to Malik and tell him to hurry home, so that he wouldn't get in trouble. After all, these were the people who had tormented his childhood.

"Hey, look at the bitch who came by," one of the boys sneered loudly to the other so that Malik could hear. It worked, and he paused on his way past the building, turning and looking their way… as if he didn't know who they were talking to. They looked at each other, and then made their way across the crumbling concrete parking lot towards him. Malik looked at them coldly, glaring as if to warn them to try anything. But Mariku knew it was only a disguise. Surely, this had happened more than once.

"Fuck off." He hissed, and started walking again, gulping when they continued to follow him.

"What, what are you going to do? I'm sure you look girly enough that you couldn't even fight!" They moved to either side of him, and Mariku became increasingly worried. "Gonna try and bomb us,_terrorist?!_"

It was a situation so familiar to his days in middle school. So very, very familiar. He was teased and bullied because of his skin, because of his race. Mariku was different, and he had suffered because of it. Picked last for dodge ball, left to sit alone at lunch, shoved in the halls, and kicked at the play ground. They had said that he was the horrible one, the one that was bad, but he knew that they were truly the 'bad' ones. But even with knowing this, it didn't stop them from hating them. And truly, if not for his skin, there would have been no reason for them to have hurt him so badly. They were children, innocent, and it was their parents that taught them to be racist. It wasn't their fault. But once high school came and it didn't stop, there was no excuse then. Bakura had taught him to stand up for himself, to fight back, and it was out of his influence that he hardened himself to their jeers. Later, he had beaten anyone who had dared make a comment towards him. He had his revenge, and it had felt good.

"Aw, look, the little bitch can't even say anything." Laughing harshly when Malik refused to reply, they continued to harass him. "He can't even pretend to be sand nigger like the rest of 'em! Gonna say somethin', sand nigger?!"

They grabbed him at the same time, pulling his shoulders back harshly so that he fell back onto the cold concrete sidewalk. Malik look surprised, not expecting the sudden attack, and tried standing, only to have one of the boys place a foot on his chest and push him back down.

"You'd better stop ignoring us, _terrorist._ We'll fuck you up so bad-" But they didn't have time to say the rest of the sentence as Malik pulled their leg, making them fall over, face forward, onto the ground. Jumping to his feet as quickly as he could, Malik took off running, not daring to look back at the two racist boys. They looked at each other for a moment and started to chase after him before slowing to a stop. Watching as his Malik ran down the street and up the steps to his apartment building, and making sure he was safe, Mariku scowled.

He had wanted so badly to beat those boys to a pulp, to pummel them to the ground. They had hurt his Malik, HIS MALIK! They had touched him, they had insulted him, and he couldn't have done anything about it. If he had saved him, it would have caused too much of a scene, and he couldn't afford his Malik to get suspicious. But his Malik was gone, his Malik was safe, and Mariku would make them pay. Stepping out from behind a corner from which he had been hiding, Mariku followed the two boys as they made their way into a back alley, away from any prying eyes. They really made this too easy…

"Hey," Mariku shouted at them once he deemed it far enough from the street, and grinned darkly when they turned.

"Oh, look, another terrorist." The shorter of the two sneered at the other, and they made their way to him. Eyes narrowing, Mariku gave a twisted smile and reached into the pocket of his coat.

"You think you're tough, huh?" It was his turn to sneer, then, and they looked at him oddly. Mostly likely, it wasn't very too often that they got talked down upon. "You think you're superior, that you're better. Was it fun when you hurt my Malik? Did you get gratification from touching my boy? Answer me, you little shits."

"Look, fag, we don't-" Advancing upon them, Mariku glared darkly, using all of his powers of intimidation as they gulped nervously. Pity for them that they did not see their situation as dangerous as it was. Mariku would change that.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING DARE TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT!" Once he had them cornered at a mesh fence, Mariku lunged forward, punching one in the stomach and throwing him to the ground. "DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH MY MALIK!" His friend tried a swing at him, but Mariku caught the punch, pulling his arm forward that he fell alongside his partner. Kicking them mercilessly, Mariku paused after a while, placing a foot onto the taller's neck, mimicking the way they had so cruelly done to his boy. He bent down a little and laughed as he scrabbled at his leg, gasping for breath, his eyes bulging. Pressing his foot down harder, the boy gurgled, and Mariku grinned when the other tried to get him away from his friend. They managed to shove him away, and he stumbled backwards, becoming horribly angry.

"Wrong move, boy. I'll show you who the real terrorist is." Laughing in sick amusement as his Malik's tormentors stared horrified up at him, Mariku took his hand out of his pocket and cocked his gun. The look on their faces was priceless as he pulled the trigger. Blood splattered against the brick walls of the alley and pooled on the ground, dripping from the gaping hole in the shorter one's head as he slumped over lifelessly, the look of terror still plastered on his acne covered face. After the shot rang through the alley, it was deathly quiet, and Mariku laughed at his little joke, wiping a bit of blood off of his gun and nudged the foot of the dead boy. Shoes clanking against the concrete paved ground as Mariku walked forward, the remaining boy looked at him horrified, too scared to even move. He picked him up by the neck of his shirt and laughed once again as he began to hyperventilate. Throwing him to the ground, the boy coughed, hands around his neck.

"Not so tough now, huh?" His grin dropping, Mariku scowled when the boy didn't reply. "If you don't get the fuck out of here, I'll kill you, too. Don't even try to go to the police. They'll know you, and they won't care. Now get the fuck out of my sight, and if I ever see you anywhere near my boy again, this'll happen to you." Before he could even kick him in the side one last time, the boy struggled to his feet and ran from him as fast as he could, stumbling a bit at first.

The sound of his feet became softer and softer, and after a couple of seconds, Mariku was left alone again in silence. Chuckling softly Mariku squatted down near the dead body of the other boy, wiping some of his blood that had gotten on his gloves back onto his shirt, where it belonged. The blood was drying in some places, and Mariku turned his head away in disgust at the site. This is what he deserved, and Mariku only prayed that they would go to hell. In his eyes, touching his Malik was the ultimate crime, and insulting him and his race was even worse. If he smoked, this would have been the opportune moment for a cigarette, Mariku mused, but he wouldn't have had time anyway.

-

Looking around for any unwanted eyes, Mariku scribbled the last piece of his note. He pressed it to his lips and kissed it, setting it back down where it belonged. Chuckling a little when he almost forgot to give the rest of his gift, Mariku pulled out his wallet, finding a couple of twenties, and placed them with the rest of his present. Stepping back to admire his work, Mariku wasted no time to leave the scene, not wanting to stay around anymore. Smiling to himself, Mariku hummed, the body of the dead boy resting on the steps to Malik's apartment fading into the background. His Malik would see his gift and the letter, and know it was from him. His Malik would see what good he did for him. His Malik would see how much he loved him, and all the trouble he went through on his behalf.

Bakura had also taught him to always carry a gun.

---

"Do you know how much I love you?" Mariku looked down at him, and Malik looked away, staring at a spot on the wall. He didn't reply, he didn't think he could. "I love you more than anything in the world. I would do anything for you, my Malik." He lifted up one of his hands and kissed each of his fingers, pausing a while before going over his knuckles. Feeling sick, Malik closed his eyes and let himself be held, his stomach strangely full, like all of his emotions resided there. An invisible, but heavy weight.

"You know," Mariku stopped with his kisses, twining their fingers together, and rested his chin on his shoulder, "I think you've gained a little weight." Hearing these words, Malik shifted. He didn't want to know how Mariku thought that staying here was good for him, that he had helped him. Malik stayed quiet, not even bothering to yell at him. It wasn't like it would change anything, anyway… "You're not as horribly thin, anymore. If you keep eating, you'll be healthy. I'd like that…" Mariku smiled over his shoulder, running their hands over his stomach. Not liking how he was making him touch himself, Malik shook his hand away, opening his eyes to look warily back at him. Catching his glance, Mariku frowned and let go of his other hand, a nervous silence falling over his room.

It had been two days since the movers had come, and Malik had fallen depressed. He didn't feel well, emotionally or physically, and the only thing he ever wanted to do was sleep. The days passed ungodly slow, and Malik wished from the moment he woke up that it would end. His books were his only comfort, and often held them close, afraid that they would leave. Even more often than before, Malik cried. He would just sit in the corner and let it all go, pulling his knees to his chest. A part of him hated it, _loathed_ himself for being so incredibly pathetic. But the part of him that spoke up was the one that told him to give in, that it would hurt less if he distanced himself from his body. And so Malik stared, unmoving, out of the window, and let himself be held.

The cold winter season was drawing to a close and it had become warmer, though, only a tiny bit. Outside, the snow was melting, falling off of the many pine trees' branches in clumps to land on the ground with a splat. Malik was glad for it to leave, the horrible feeling of being cold, but in a way, he missed it. The trees looked so bare without the snow…

"I'm sorry, Habibi, I didn't mean to upset you." As Mariku spoke, his voice cut through the silence hanging heavily in the air, and it grated against Malik's thoughts. "But I just can't believe how well behaved you're being. You're such a good boy, Malik." Winding his hands back around his stomach, Mariku pulled him back to him, shifting his legs so that he sat between them on his bed. The movement scared him, not liking their position, and Malik's eyebrows furrowed, wary at what he would do. He was too tired to fight back… "…You're so perfect, to good for me. Look at you, so beautiful and, god… perfect." His voice was breathy as he leaned in next to him, speaking near his neck. He didn't like this, he didn't like the hands around him, he didn't like the way Mariku was talking about him, the way he was kissing his neck, and he didn't like the way how Mariku laid him down onto his back while staying above him. Malik was scared, so very, very scared as he was being touched and petted and kissed and _touched._ But what scared him more was that he did not retaliate, not even now, when he new very well what could happen if he didn't say anything.

"-And your smooth skin. Do not hold it against me, I'm only human, and only a fool would not want to touch you. But no one else can, only me. Me! You're all mine…" He had made his way back to his neck, and momentarily stopped with his kisses in favor of breathing deeply into his hair. Malik squirmed. His skin was so disgusting, it was horrendous, and the way Mariku touched it seemed so… wrong, in a completely different way from his other touches. Even the way he spoke of it was disgusting. How much he wished to be sick… but the only thing he could rid his body of, Malik feared, was the pit of turmoil plaguing his insides, and that was only… figurative. It would offer no relief from reality. And for a moment, Malik wished that Mariku would ask to talk with him. At least that way, there would be no touches, and it could be vaguely considered… enjoyable.

Mariku hummed a little to him, something Malik thought very out of character, and it made him mad at how happy he could be. His happiness only came at his expense… Whispering little nothings to him and going back to kiss his neck, Malik looked over in surprise when he heard the door click open. Mariku paused, looking down at him a little nervously before glancing over his shoulder.

"Oh, it seems I must have come in at a bad time." Malik gulped when the white haired man closed the door behind him, leaning on it. The one named Bakura grinned. "Please, don't stop because of me."

"Bakura, you… why are you here?" It was the first time that Malik had ever seen Mariku worried, and if he was even the slightest on edge, it scared him. This person… he was not someone to deal lightly with, and even though Malik knew nothing about him, he knew to stay away.

"Do I need a reason to enter a room in my own house?" His posture and expression was laid back, and he kept his head at a high angle. Even though his words showed no hint of malice, the way he spoke them did. Behind their exterior, venom dripped from his voice.

"Bakura…" Mariku moved off of him to sit up on the corner of the bed, and Malik took his chance to crawl away slowly to the front of the head board. Little feelings of nervousness were doing flip flops in his stomach, and he felt tension return to the room. He did not forget their first encounter, and Malik was afraid to know why he was here, why he would want to be anywhere near him from how he had spoken then. That day seemed so long ago… "Bakura, I know you, and there is no reason for you to be here." His voice had gained a warning tone, but his eyes stayed cautious.

"I can do whatever the damn well I please." Bakura sneered and moved from his place at the door to stand in front of Mariku. He leaned back a small bit, and Bakura placed his hands on either side of his legs, bending down and leaning in towards him, as if to lose no distance. Their faces were very close, and Bakura whispered something inaudible to his ears before leaning in the rest of the way to kiss him. Malik was shocked, even though he knew he shouldn't have been. He had heard the way that they spoke to each other while he hid from Mariku, but still… he was confused. Who… was this person? What was his relation to Mariku…? After all the talk of loving him, he already had a partner? Malik was… he didn't know what he was, he didn't know what was happening.

"Not here, Bakura." Mariku withdrew and placed a hand on the back of his head to turn him away, making Bakura look dangerously up at him. They looked a while at each other before Bakura's eyes flicked over to Malik, who froze up instantly. Their eyes met, and Malik gulped. There was something so… insidious in his gaze, and Malik could not will himself to look away, almost as if he was freezing him in place.

"Don't tell me what to do, Mariku. …Bring him to me." The white haired male spoke, not breaking their eye contact, and Mariku tensed, his shoulders straightening.

"Bakura, don't-"

"I told you to bring him to me!" Turning his head sharply to the side, Bakura glared at him, demanding and harsh. There was a way about him that demanded a sort of respect and obedience, and Mariku cracked underneath it. This time, Mariku was not the one in control, and Malik's throat hitched when he reached back for him.

"Come here, Malik." His voice was soft, as if not to scare him, and motioned him over. But Malik would not come, he did not want to be anywhere near the other.

"No." Voice equally as soft, Mariku looked pleadingly at him when he refused. This was… so odd, so different. Who was Bakura that he could make even Mariku, his hell and tormentor, become so desperate?

Bakura had drawn away and watched in amusement at his refusal, eyes narrowed. "Come on, Mariku. _Make him move._" His captor looked back one last time, and something was passed silently between them, a sort of understanding. Facing Malik once again, Mariku had returned to his regular demeanor.

"Malik, you will listen to me. And if you do not obey me, I will be forced to punish you." He spoke his words coldly, and his eyes were hard and unyielding. But Malik could still see the pleading in them, begging for him to move, to listen, and to obey. He didn't want to be hurt, but he wanted to refuse. If he retaliated, he would be punished, beaten, even, and if he listened to his captor, well… he didn't know what would happen then. Any reason that Bakura would want him for couldn't be good. Unfolding his legs out from underneath him, Malik slowly moved back to Mariku. He'd rather have uncertainty than the knowledge of what would happen to him if he refused. Malik didn't want to ever be hit again.

"Thank you." Mariku whispered to him. Once he was close enough, Mariku reached out for him, grabbing his upper arms and pulling him back to them. Malik was nervous and tense when he felt himself being set back into Mariku's lap, Bakura staring at him all the while. Feeling his breath catch in his throat, Malik's heart beat faster when Bakura moved languidly to the bed. He didn't know who he was, he didn't know who he was, he didn't know who he was, this was so strange, and he was so scared.

"Hold his arms back, I want to see what's so special about him." Up close, Malik was surprised when he found that Bakura was considerably shorter than him. About two inches, maybe even more. But his presence and posture was not short at all, and Malik found himself intimidated when Bakura leaned close to him, making him pull away subconsciously into Mariku's chest. Mariku paused a little, but then moved to Malik's arms, looping his own around them and pulling them behind his back, leaving him open and vulnerable, unable to move from his grip. He squirmed then, kicking a little, the feeling of desperation returning, and he struggled in the arms that bound him. Malik squeezed his eyes shut, the need to scream ever present, and gasped when he felt something cool on his stomach.

Eyes snapping open instantly, Malik watched in muted horror as Bakura lifted the hem of his shirt, placing his hand on the top of his abdomen. He stopped struggling suddenly from shock, and could only sit and gape as Bakura ran his hand over his stomach. His hand was cold, and it made goose bumps against his skin. Smoothing his hand over the flat expanse of his abdomen, Bakura flicked his eyes up to him and Malik froze, morbidly entranced, the feeling of his touches horrific, and so horribly, horribly terrifying. The way that he was touching him in a place intimate to himself, the absolute _feeling_ of their touching skin, the fear of what would happen and why he was doing this, and the way that he was completely… helpless, that he couldn't get away. He would have never thought that he would ever have to feel like he had… _then,_ ever again. Mariku tightened his hold on him.

"So this is it, hmm?" Bakura's voice was low and dangerous, never breaking eye contact from him. "This is all you have? This is it!? You're not even anything fucking special!" He snarled up at him, his hand starting to curve into a fist, and Malik gulped, eyes wide. And then, without warning, Bakura raked his nails down his chest, grinning manically when Malik screamed.

It hurt horribly, and Malik tried twisting away, not wanting to be anywhere near the source of his pain, and to his relief, Mariku let him go. Malik gasped when he rolled off the side of the bed, clutching a hand to his middle where some blood was seeping through.

"I didn't tell you to let him go!"

"I don't care, Bakura, don't you EVER, do that again!"

"Don't you tell me what to do!"

"I don't care, I don't care! Don't you ever hurt him!"

A thump, and Malik looked up from listening to their fight to see Bakura fuming, glaring down at Mariku who was now resting on the floor, arms behind him. His expression was shocked, staring disbelievingly up at the shorter, before his face turned cold.

"You just… punched me." Bakura stared hard down at him before scoffing and looking away.

"I could have done a lot worse, and to your little bitch, too."

"Get out." Mariku hissed at him, and Bakura looked back, an unrecognizable expression on his face. Glare ever present, he closed his eyes, clenching his hands into fists once again, turning quickly on his heel. Making sure to swing the door open, he paused, glancing back down at Malik, who was huddled on the floor next to the bed.

"If you ever come anywhere near me, I'll hurt you much worse than that, just you wait." Giving him one of the scariest expressions he had ever seen, Bakura slammed the door shut with a bang.

The second that he left, Malik relaxed, not remembering when he had become so tense. Nervously, Malik shifted when he heard Mariku stand and walk back towards him. Refusing to meet his eyes, he stared at his shoes, flinching back when he kneeled in front of him.

"Oh, no, Malik, I won't hurt you. Don't be scared…" Mariku spoke softly to him, almost in apology for what he had done and let happen to him, and reached out to pet his hair. Like that would help… but Malik let himself be comforted. Gradually, Mariku coaxed him from his closed position, unwinding his arms from his bent legs and opened up to him. He gasped when Mariku placed a tentative hand on his chest and grabbed his wrist when he moved to lift his shirt up, eyes wide. Frowning, Mariku pried his hands away, placing them gently back at his sides. "I need to see your stomach, Malik. I need to know how much Bakura hurt you."

Malik let go of the breath he was holding and bit his lip to keep from moving when Mariku slowly lifted the hem of it up. The blood had dried a little and stuck to his shirt, making him whimper when it was removed. Three long scratches were dug into the lower part of his torso, and Bakura's nails must have been very long, for they were deep, as well. Mariku frowned again at the state of his stomach, and carefully traced a cut with one of his fingers, pressing down at his middle, making Malik move away from the pain it caused.

"I think it would be best if I bandaged you. I don't want you getting an infection" Eyeing Malik's stomach once again, Mariku stood, his hair rustling with the movements of his head. Smiling softly down at him, Mariku opened the door. "Wait here a while, okay? I haven't had to use a bandage in a while, and it make take a while for me to find them. And don't worry, I'll talk to Bakura." He drifted off a little, tilting his head to the side the slightest bit, eyes glancing off into the hallway before looking back down at him. "Please forgive me, my Malik, I didn't know he would try and hurt you. I'll try to be as quick as possible. Don't touch it while I'm gone, okay?" Giving him one last little smile, Mariku slowly closed the door, leaving Malik in solitude.

Waiting a couple moments after Mariku's absence, he stood up, wincing when he bent at the middle. He clutched his stomach and grimaced when his hand passed over the wounds there. They protested angrily, and he made certain to be careful when he walked to the bathroom as to not aggravate them any more. Creaking the door slowly open, Malik made his way to the white granite counter, leaning a little on the edge. Tentatively, he lifted the bottom of his shirt up, wincing once again when he saw the state of his stomach in the mirror. Ignoring his captor's instructions of not to touch, Malik looked around for a wash cloth, finding a couple to his right and wetting one, pressing it softly to the cuts. It stung, but he wanted to wipe away the blood that still remained, and carefully dabbed at them until his bronzed skin showed clear of any other substance. Malik sighed and closed his eyes after he was done, fisting the damp cloth in his hand onto the counter and leaned his forehead onto the mirror.

Malik wanted to go home… he was so tired of this. He was tired of waking up every morning and feeling the depression in his heart, waiting nervously for Mariku to appear, having the promises of love and affection only to be hurt as badly as he had been before, and from just being so tired of it all that he gave in. It was… so… surreal in a sense, like it was all just a horrible, horrible dream. Just a nightmare that he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried. Where he could be hurt, and nobody came to save him. That the same person who presented him with suffering was the same one who would hold him and tell him that 'everything would be okay,' and that Malik found himself giving in to it. He hated him immeasurably, loathed him with every part of his being, and feared him in a way that could almost be described as passionate. And he had good reason, too. Malik did not forget the things that he had done and continued to do to him… But when he touched him in a way that was not cruel, that did not hurt, and in the way he called love, Malik could tolerate it, and in a sense, Malik clung to it. These were the first times that he had been touched since _then_, and maybe, if Mariku would not force him, he could grow used to the horrifying terror of his touch, and could remember what it was like to not be scared of human contact. But even though Malik knew it would never happen, it didn't keep him from hoping. That is… until he would be freed.

"Malik, I told you not to touch it." Malik opened his eyes, moving his head to the side to see Mariku standing in the doorway, a tube of disinfectant and package of band-aids in his hands. Expression turning soft after his chastisement, his nightmare instructed him to sit on the counter, which he did with a little difficulty, and a part of him wondered why he just went along with it so easily. It made him feel childish, remembering a time when he got too rowdy with some of the local town boys, and had to have his sister clean him back up from his scrapes and bruises as she set him on their old sink's counter.

"_Now don't let father catch you acting bad again! You know what will happen if he does._"

If he truly had, Malik wondered if he'd even be here right now.

"Can you hold your shirt up for me?" He paused a little, gulping, before slowly lifting his shirt up to Mariku's view, holding it no higher than need be. Even if he was too tired to retaliate, he was still scared of his eyes on such a part of his body. Old things never died.

Mariku's eyes drifted downward, resting on his stomach longer than Malik felt comfortable, and shifted, hiding himself a little from his view. Flicking his eyes away, Mariku reached for the disinfectant, uncapping it and squeezing a little onto another wash cloth. Gently, Mariku placed it to his cuts, and Malik hissed from the cold, stinging sensation. Letting him get used to the feeling, he cleaned away some of the blood Malik had missed, pressing lightly along where the gashes were (Bakura's nails really were that sharp!), and pulled back when he was done. The cold air mingled with the drying medicine on his stomach, Malik feeling the stinging leave, and it felt almost as if he was being purified, the pain giving a physical sense and body to it.

He moved then to the gauze, placing the start of it near his middle and slowly wrapping his torso with the white, stretchy fabric. It was uncomfortable against his skin, and felt suffocating over his newly formed cuts. Wrapping the last of the bandages around his middle, Mariku smiled fondly at him, his eyes narrowing, and Malik was reminded once again at how alien the expression seemed on his face. Letting the bottom of his shirt fall back down, Malik moved to hop off of the counter, but paused when Mariku placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back. He made a move to question what he was doing, but Mariku cut him off, placing his hands on either side of his thighs, and leaned in towards him, making Malik back up until the back of his head hit the mirror.

"Oh, Malik, I've told you, you never have to be scared of me. I'll never hurt you." He had not known he was shaking until Mariku gently held his hand, rubbing it to soothe his fear. Malik didn't like this, this was not good. He was far, far too close, and Malik couldn't help the little tremors of fear. He wondered vaguely why he was so scared now, as Mariku had been far closer than this earlier, but decided that he didn't need a reason. He just was. Malik was so confused…

It was something that he supposed he should have grown used to, but was just as scared as the first time it had happened as Mariku slowly leaned into him, softly pressing his lips to his own. His kiss was not rough, or harsh, but was slow and deliberate, holding Malik close, easing his way up to him. There was no hint of a tongue, only his lips and hot breath on his face. Pulling away, Mariku looked flushed as he smiled for the immeasurable time that day, resting his forehead against his own.

"You're such a good boy… so good, Malik. How should I reward you…?" He grinned, moving his hand over his own to lace their fingers together, but it was hard, as Malik's own were lax, and his happy expression fell. "Do you know what would make me happy, Habibi?" It wasn't a rhetorical question, and Malik refused to answer in favor of screwing his eyes closed, but Mariku did not seem to mind. "I would be so, so happy if you kissed me back, my Malik. Just a small kiss, nothing more. Would you do that for me?"

He must have been insane for asking, Malik thought to himself, because did he really believe that he would kiss him back? That he would abandon all his fear and everything he knew to kiss the man who had kidnapped and abused him? That he would accept that this was happening to him? Malik did not reply.

Mariku sighed briefly, resting his head in the crook of his neck before bringing him too him suddenly. His arms wound around his back, a hand resting on the back of his head, the other on his side, and Mariku squeezed him to him. They were so close, pressed right up against one another. Malik's knees on either side of his captor's waist, and he could not move, no matter how hard he struggled. Mariku, feeling his attempts to free himself, tried quieting him by more kisses, starting on the nape of his neck and slowly traveling upwards. Malik stayed still through his silent torture, trying to distance himself from his body. This was not love.

But his suffering stopped eventually when he whimpered as Mariku accidentally pressed to hard onto his abused abdomen. Mariku stopped his kisses and pets, slowly drawing away, eyes closed. Malik was breathing heavily, the feeling of Mariku's body close to his still lingering, and he closed his eyes as well, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"I'm going to go for the rest of the day, okay, Malik? There are… some things I need to take care of, so I might be late with your dinner. Is that okay, my Malik?" The tone of his voice was that sickeningly soft one, and Malik nodded softly. "Maybe tomorrow we could get you some more clothes. Would you like that?" Silence. "Be good, Habibi. I'll see you tomorrow." And then, with a final kiss on his forehead, Mariku left him, taking the medicine and bandages with him.

Malik wasted no time in reaching the toilet to vomit.

---

**Malik does give up in a sense, very much so, but is still petrified of touch. Letting Mariku hold him when the movers came was something very rare and profound, a real breaking point. He still wants escape, still dreams of it, but is gradually starting to lose hope. -though, maybe I didn't portray this well…I shall cover it up with the excuse that I rushed it!- As more time goes by that Mariku does not force himself on him sexually, he comes to trust him the tinniest bit more, desperate for any sort of saving grace. And the times that he had, such as masturbating in front of him, Malik tries to forget, since the thought of sexual contact ties in with his phobia of touch, and would rather try and forget about the things that happened to him and hope that Mariku will not try anything, even though he knows fully well what will eventually happen.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Even from the very start, I had always imagined this fic to be disturbing. This is not a happy fic, and it was never meant to be. Things like this do happen in real life, and I'm not trying to romanticize them. Hardly. I try and focus on human emotion and the reactions that follow, delving into something more than just what happens on the outside. Mariku's mind is warped, and he is not healthy. He loves him, yes, but out of the psychological affect after stalking him and his own mental instability, he cannot see that Malik is truly, truly unwilling. In his mind, he tells himself that Malik loves him, and twists his actions and words into something that proves it. Encouraged by this, he disregards what Malik **_**really**_** needs. Out of selfishness and what his mind thinks Malik wants, he ignores his pleadings for freedom and continues with what he thinks is 'love'. **

**And a special thank you to all of my reviewers who have stuck by me this entire time. Cheers, eh?**

---

Hit. Punch. Kick. Rip. His world was a flurry of feet and hands, both tearing at each other until the other started to bleed. The boy who he was currently fighting had been teasing his hair again, and in his neighborhood, the only answer to dispute was to fight. Akiiki was one of the older boys, but just as immature as he, and loved to start things with all of the children younger than him, and it always made Malik laugh that his name meant 'friendly.' Pity to his parents who had thought so long to name him only for it to turn into something laughable.

Getting his breath knocked out if him by a well-aimed punch, Malik gasped, stumbling back a little. There was a crowd surrounding them, cheering them on, and they only yelled louder when Malik got hit. In literally the middle of the desert, there were few things to do besides school. There was no television, hardly any electronics, and so whenever a fight broke out, it was the greatest form of entertainment. People would talk about it for days. The boys cheering him on pushed him back into the circle they had created when he stumbled too far back. Spitting into the dirt, Malik glared at the other, panting heavily.

"Malik!" Faintly, through his rush of adrenaline, Malik heard Isis yell, but he ignored her, continuing to fight with the other boy. "Malik, get off of him!" He saw her then, taking a chance glance up, shoving through the crowd of boys who were cheering them on to yell at him. Having wrestled Akiiki to the ground, Malik was surprised when he punched him again, missing his target to hit near his arm, his sharp nails scraping his skin. Malik made a sort of growling noise before tackling him back down when he made a move to sit up, punching whatever he could reach. They rolled on the ground, dust getting into his eyes and dirtying his clothes, fighting with everything: hands, feet, and teeth. After the older boy had grabbed onto his hair and started to yank, Malik yelled, ready to hit again, but felt something pull him away.

He continued to fight, swinging at the air, furious when Akiiki started to laugh at him. "Isis, let me go!"

"If you would stop fighting, this wouldn't happen!"

"Isis!" Malik fumed, his ears reddening from embarrassment as she pulled him away.

The crowd was laughing now as Isis dragged him away from the fight, and Malik wanted nothing more than to wriggle out of his sister's hold on him and go back to pummeling the other boy. Fuming from anger and embarrassment, Malik let himself be led through the now thinning crowd, a sour look on his face. It was basically saying he was giving up, and that Akiiki had won even though he knew he was close to being the REAL winner, but he couldn't argue with Isis. Isis was in charge, just a little less than father, and even though he complained about her, she really usually know what he should and shouldn't do.

She let go of his wrist after a while, once out of the commotion, and Malik knew he was in trouble without her even having to say anything. Malik wasn't allowed to fight, and he knew he would be in trouble. Father hated it when he made trouble, and when Malik disobeyed… Malik started to feel sick. But he couldn't help it. Being a boy, he was rash and didn't think in the rush of things, and when someone teased him, there was only one thing to do. Fight. It was like an unspoken law.

"Isis, don't tell father." She looked down at him, furrowing her eyebrows, and bit her lip, glancing away.

"How are we going to explain all of your cuts and bruises? And just look at your clothes! They're so dirty, and you know we can't wash them in time!" Malik knew she was right, but still, he pleaded.

"Please, Isis! Just don't tell him! I'll hide this and wear something else, and… I can say that I fell!" It was an unbelievable lie, but maybe their father would be too drunk to notice…

"Fine, Malik. But I'm not taking responsibility." Isis really was a good sister.

-

Malik winced when he ran his arm under the faucet, watching as the dust and grime was taken off of his skin. Running water was a luxury, but it was expensive, and their house was one of the few that had it in their area. Turning the knob back to it's original position, Malik heard the water stop as he pulled off his shirt and shorts, shaking the dust off of them. He looked around the bathroom, trying to find a place to hide them, and settled on balling them up and throwing them into the corner. Switching his other clothes on, Malik looked down at himself. He thought he had done a good job with cleaning up, but was still worried that his bruises and messy hair would give him away.

"Malik" Malik looked over when Rishid opened the door. "Isis said that you got in another fight." 

"Yeah, so?" He frowned, embarrassed that he had been caught so easily.

"Malik…" Rishid sighed, shaking his head, "You have to stop fighting, you're just making it harder on yourself."

"Don't tell."

"I won't, Malik." Malik frowned worriedly, hoping that Rishid would keep his promise. "Now if you don't want to get in any more trouble, I suggest you do your homework."

"Ugh, Rishid!" Rishid laughed when Malik groaned.

"Hey, I'm not the one who's getting in fights every week." He smiled, the atmosphere becoming less cold.

"Yeah, I'll do it." Taking one last glance at his dirty and ripped clothes in the corner, Malik left with Rishid to start on his homework.

-

Homework with Rishid was fun, he made it enjoyable, always making Malik laugh, and they got off topic often. Rishid was his favorite out of his siblings, and loved to have him around, and eventually, they did finish it. But his happiness sunk when he heard a door open and slam shut. His father was home. Malik looked over worriedly at Rishid, who put a finger up to his lips.

"Don't go near him, don't talk to him. Only see him if he wants you. We won't tell, and I don't think he will notice." Malik nodded silently.

Staying out of his father's way was a generally easy thing to do, as he fell asleep soon after he got home. And by the time he woke up, it had already grown dark outside. Malik was sitting on his bed, flipping through a magazine one of the traders who came by a couple of months ago had dropped, and even though he had looked through it a million times, it was still interesting. In school, they had been teaching them the English language, and although it was hard to understand, Malik was proud when he found that he could read bits and pieces of the magazine.

Studying the characters, he tried to make sense of them, when he heard the voice he had been dreading.

"Malik, get your scrawny ass over here!" 

His stomach literally dropped, a horrible sinking feeling taking over, and he almost cried. Malik knew he had been caught, he just knew it. The fear of what would happen to him overrode any anger or dejection he would have normally felt at his fathers harsh words; he was used to it by now. Hands shaking when he shoved his prized magazine underneath his bed, he took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Maybe his father really didn't know that he had been bad, maybe he just wanted him for something else… and if that was true, he couldn't give it away by looking nervous. Hearing his father yell for him again (this time, a lot angrier), Malik left his room, the horrible feeling in his gut never leaving.

"Close the door." His father's back was turned to him, and Malik gulped, shutting the door to the living room. "Now, tell me… what did you do today?" He did not turn to face him, leaning his forearms on the windowsill and looking outside.

"W-well…" Malik mentally slapped himself when he stuttered, giving his nerves away, "today me and Garai did this project in school where he had to cut out all of these little trees and put them on a map where rain forests were. But we got done really fast so we talked to Khepri and Salih, and after school we went down to the river with them. Nothing else, really." He shrugged, trying to come off as at ease.

Waiting for a reply, Malik fidgeted, becoming more nervous with every passing second. Finally, his father turned, and Malik wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. The expression on his face proved his fears justified, and Malik froze. He already knew he was screwed. 

"So tell me, if that's all you did, when did you get into the fight?" His voice was low, something that was very, very dangerous with his father. And at these words, Malik began to shake once again. He couldn't help it, he was too scared. Tonight, he would be beaten again.

"I-I-I di-"

"Don't fucking stutter, boy! I know you did, and if you didn't, what are _these!"_ His father yelled, and he held up his torn clothes in his right hand. Malik could see the rips from where he was standing, and with each one that was shredding into his clothes, he knew that that they would each be one more injury to add to his body.

"…" Opening his mouth to say something, no words came out, only a whimper as his bottom lips started to tremble. So scared, so scared… but not once did he question his father. His father made all the rules, no matter how stupid or how horrible, and he couldn't say anything against him. He was _father_.

"Tell me!" He screamed, fist tightening into his already abused clothes.

"…Akiiki ripped them." Malik whispered. Maybe if he said it quietly enough, his father wouldn't hear and he would be able to go back to being not in trouble.

"Why did Akiiki rip them? Speak up, boy!" Eyes cold and hard, his father glared him down.

"H-he called me a freak!" Malik yelled, suddenly feeling justified for what he had done, and stuck behind his reasoning. "I _had_ to fight him!" There, it was all out in the open. No use trying to hide his fear now.

"And what did I tell you about fighting?" His voice was dangerously low again, and Malik knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

"Th-that if I did, I would be p-punished…" Malik's courage was short lived, and he retrogressed back to his cowering state.

"That's right, Malik. So… how do you think you should be punished?"

"…" The beating would be inevitable, but Malik would stall it as long as he could.

"Take off your clothes."

"Wh-what?" He looked up, surprised and nervous, not knowing what he meant.

"I told you to take off your clothes!" His father yelled, and Malik physically winced. "If you're so eager to ruin them, you don't deserve them!"

Fumbling with the bottom of his shirt, Malik wrenched it over the top of his head, eager to please him, and scared of what might happen if he didn't. His hands paused at his pants, but it was short lived as he pulled them off just as quickly. Malik was allowed his underwear. His father eyed him critically, and Malik shivered, the nights being much colder than the day, holding his clean clothes in a ball in front of him.

"Drop them." And Malik obeyed, letting the clothes fall to the floor. Time went by slowly then, and Malik didn't know if it was out of his own nervous fear, waiting for something to happen, or if he really did stand there as long as he felt. His father continued to stare at him, expression unreadable. It was a long while until he spoke.

"You're such a little slut." Malik froze, not understanding what it meant. He had only ever heard the word from some of the older boys, and every time, they were talking about girls. But Malik didn't not voice his confusion, and continued to stay silent. "So eager to take off your clothes. I think you've had practice. Do the other boys tell you to take them off too?"

"N-no." They didn't! Why would they?

He got no reply, but Malik hardly noticed when his father started to undo his belt. The shaking returning, Malik felt tears ready to resurface. Being beaten with the belt was one of his worse punishments, and he rarely got it. So the times the he did, Malik knew that he had been very, very bad. But when the belt finally left all of the loops, Malik was even more nervous when it stayed in his hand, not moving it to hit him.

"You've been very bad, Malik. In fact, I think this is the worse you've ever been." And he didn't understand when his father reached out to him, grabbing his arm. "So bad, that you can't ever tell anyone what your punishment will be. If you do, you will regret it for the rest of your life." His hand tightened on his arm, and Malik winced. The words were scary, but familiar. He often got threatened with horrible things, but never before had he been ordered not to tell about his punishments. Not that Malik ever did talk about them; only girls whined and complained about their life, and Malik certainantly was _not_ a girl. 

Nodding his head enthusiastically to portray that he understood, Malik was scared when he was pushed to the ground. If his father had forbade him of telling about his punishment, it must be very, very bad, and Malik was scared. He tensed up all over when his father moved down in front of him, squeezing his eyes shut, prepared to be hit, to be beaten, for anything horrible to happen. But what he didn't expect was to be touched then, all over. He was so confused, so very confused. Making a move to sit up, he was shoved back down.

It was only a short while later that Malik realized how horrible his punishment truly was. And he couldn't deal with it, what was happening to him, how disgusting it felt and how scared he was. That… his father had… had… but this was punishment. Malik had been bad, and he was punished, like always. But this time, he did not forget. He learned his lesson. And for the rest of his life, he knew that he would remember how horrible touch was.

Malik obeyed, and had never told that his father had raped him that long night ago. Malik was good.

---

Slowly opening his eyes, Mariku sighed, lifting an arm to cover them. He was happy to notice that the air was not cold, but cool as spring had finally set in. Moaning a little, he rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers back up around him, but he couldn't help but notice how lonely he felt when the space next to him was empty. He wanted the day to start now, but it was much to early. Having always been an early riser, Mariku was left to think by himself until the sun rose. And as always, the first thing that came to his mind was Malik.

His Malik had been so well behaved the past week… Never talking back or retaliating, being good, as he knew he would eventually become. It was the slightest bit depressing, but he didn't seem to be inclined to speaking lately, taking favor of expressing himself through a nod or shake of his head. He had asked him what was wrong, but from the silence that stretched afterward, he knew it was only a phase. Malik would come around, and maybe then, he would listen to Mariku's reasoning. But still, he was being very pleasant. Because Malik would let him kiss him.

It was so easy now to hug him, without the screaming and the pleading he had been used to, and was free to love him as he wished. Malik was quiet and still, and he often rocked him to himself, promising never to leave him, and Mariku knew he would keep true to his promise. Nothing would ever take his Malik from him ever again. He had been patient, understanding Malik's original fear, as it was only natural. He knew that this was something knew and scary, and knew that Malik wished desperately to be back home. But Mariku loved him, and this was his home now; he would not be leaving.

Making a content noise as he turned onto his side, Mariku traced a design on the pillow next to him, closing his eyes. Malik's hair was so soft and fine, easy to run his hands through, and always smelled of the lavender shampoo he had bought for him. He loved that, the idea that he was using something he had bought for him, _acknowledging him,_ and that he could finally take care of him properly as he had always wanted. There were so many things that he wanted to do for him, to do with him, and Mariku looked forward to them greatly. One day, he would take him to the ocean, and would indulge him with all the things lovers did. They would stay in the most luxurious hotel, go to the beach every day, and come back happy and covered in sand. The smile he envisioned on his face was so real, so close, and he knew that he would see it often, because Malik would love him in return. And Mariku was content, because it was no longer 'maybe one day,' but 'someday,' and he knew that with every inch of him.

How much he loved him… Mariku could not describe it, the feeling of being able to give up anything for him, all to keep him safe and happy. But Malik was not happy now. He saw the way he looked out the window, the way he would sit with his book in his lap without turning the page for hours, and the depression that was plaguing him. Was his love not enough? Were his gifts not sufficient? And then Mariku knew. It was so simple in it's geniality, but it answered everything, and Mariku finally deemed him ready.

When the first flecks of sun showed through the blinds on his windows to rest on the floor and on his bed, Mariku slowly sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Tiredly, he pulled on the strings that kept the rest of the sunlight out of his room, and closed his eyes when it hit them. But Mariku was more awake than he had ever been in his life. Smiling, Mariku knew that today he would finally make love to his Malik. 

-

"I'm going out today." Mariku looked up from his spot on the couch to see Bakura walking towards the door, fussing with his jacket. He turned, placing a hand on the top of the couch to lift himself so that he could see over it.

"What for?"

"Business," was Bakura's only reply.

They had made up, at least, as well as the could, but only in a sense. Bakura refused to talk about the '_incident_,' and Mariku found it easier to just apologize, even though he knew that he had done nothing wrong. But Bakura was always demanding, and he loved to sulk, so the issue was left without another word otherwise. Mariku didn't want to make him mad.

"When will you be back?" He asked suspiciously, having an idea of what 'business,' he was talking about.

Bakura shrugged, kicking on his shoes, and placed a hand on the door knob before turning back around to look at him. "Really? I don't know. Dan's coming with me."

"Oh…" Mariku knew Dan, and he knew he wouldn't be back any time soon. "Well, say hi to him for me, or something. He probably thinks I'm dead by now."

"Sure." The corners of the white haired man's lips turned up the slightest before digging his hands into pockets to look for his keys until he heard them jingle. Once found, he opened the door, and Mariku had no time to say 'bye'. Setting his coffee down back onto the little table next to him, Mariku grinned, feeling giddy, and the slightest bit guilty.

With Bakura gone, it would just be he and his boy. It made things so much easier without him there, and he didn't even have to go to the trouble to get him to leave. Today would just be their day, and he wouldn't have to worry about any trouble or hindrance he might cause. But… he loved Bakura, and felt bad that he was so eager for him to leave. Shaking his head a little in a way to try and rid Bakura of his thoughts, Mariku stood up to go make Malik his breakfast.

Today was a special day, and it deserved special things. Humming a little to himself (something he rarely did, but the happiness he felt had to be expressed somehow! If he kept it bottled up, surely he would die), Mariku went about the kitchen, searching for the skillet and mixing bowl (both of which he found easily), and started on Malik's omelet, which of course, was bereaved of any meat. It was an easy thing to make, he contemplated while mixing the milk and eggs, and was a little disappointed when he couldn't think of anything more interesting to make. But he would just make up for it later. Lunch brought him more ideas.

He leaned on the counter, waiting for the mixture to cook and set up, giving him time to fantasize about all he would do. Maybe he would slowly tease him instead of just rushing, as he knew he would probably wind up doing, being so eager, and decided he liked that idea. But there would be nothing else, no ropes, no toys, no hurting, just him and his Malik. They would have time for those things later… Glancing to the side to see if it was ready, Mariku decided that he would not spoil the experience by playing it out in his head. When the time came, he would have his Malik all to himself, and that's all he really needed to know. Mariku tossed in the cheese and mushrooms he had prepared.

When it was done, Mariku placed it one of their nicer plates, and chopped up some fruit pieces so that it didn't look so lonely all by itself. Pleased with his work, Mariku finished by filling Malik a cup of water, since he didn't seem to want to drink anything else. Mariku loved to cook for him, even if it was only simple things like this. Even if Malik claimed to hate him, he was dependant on his care, and without the food he made, Malik would starve. Malik was bound to him.

-

"Malik?" Mariku paused, knocking lightly a couple times on his door before opening it. "I've brought you breakfast." He sat in the corner of the room, curtains closed, hunched over one of the last books he had yet to read. Malik was smart, intelligent, and Mariku was glad that he loved to read so much, better even that it was the books _he_ bought for him that he read. Mariku crossed the room, kneeling down next to him, and the only recognition he got was a little twitch of the shoulder. "Would you like to eat now?" The reply was inevitable, and he was answered with the close of his book. "I made you an omelet, you like those, don't you? Don't worry, there's no meat, I took it out especially for you." He smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, making Malik shiver. Hand lingering on his jaw a little too long, Mariku pulled away, the feeling of his heat still on his hand. Malik moved to the food, picking up the plate tentatively, and inspected the omelet warily, making him laugh. "Don't you believe me? I promise, there's no meat." His eyes flicked up to meet Mariku's before slowly looking back down, the little feelings of love flipping around in his chest when their eyes met. Because after so long of simply having to watch Malik without ever being able to touch him or be near him, this all still felt so new. And it was the best new he had ever felt. There was no way to describe how lucky he was. There was just no way.

"Today is a special day, Malik." Mariku said after he stood to open the curtains, letting light flood into the room. He had started eating, and did seem to care when Mariku spoke to him while doing this. "Do you know why?" Malik did not give any sort of answer, and he moved on. "It's okay, you'll find out soon enough." He had recently come to start talking to him more, even if the conversation was one sided. Malik was quiet throughout his talks, and Mariku wondered briefly if he really was listening to him at all. The conversation switched to lighter things as Malik finished his breakfast, taking his time in eating the honeydew. There was a TV show he had seen recently, and told Malik about it, positive that he would like it.

"Are you done?" Malik looked up at him and nodded, the plate clean of all food except for a little bite of omelet left. "Okay, come on, Habibi, we'll go do the dishes." Mariku stood, offering a hand down to his boy, which he promptly refused, making his arm drop. Today, he would spend all of his time with Malik, even through little things, like washing his plate. Every second he was near him, he became that bit closer to him, and had that bit more influence on his life. Mariku loved him so much.

-

"Here, dry this." Mariku glanced over to Malik, handing him a cup, but Malik refused to take it, and Mariku sighed. "Don't you ever listen to what I tell you?" Malik scowled slightly, but the expression was small, and he almost missed it. That was something that would have to change, eventually. Mariku would make it a point to teach Malik that what he said would be followed, without question, and consequences would be set if he did not. "Fine, I'll do it." Taking the towel Malik was holding out of his hand, Mariku frowned, not meaning to come off as snippy as he had sounded.

The mundane task of washing the dishes went on without a word otherwise, and he silently watched his boy out of the corner of his eye. Malik stood a little ways from him, leaning on the counter the slightest bit, a despondent expression on his face. It made Mariku so sad, the way he looked, that he was unhappy, and told himself that this was only temporary. He followed his gaze to find him staring out the window and Mariku frowned, wiping his soap sud covered hand onto his pant leg to grab Malik's chin, turning him away from the window to look him in the eye. "Stop it, Malik. You're not going to leave." Malik diverted his eyes, shrugging away and opening his mouth to say something, but then closed it. "Look," Mariku said, drying his hands on a paper towel, "how about we do something, hmm? Would you like to watch TV? See the living room? Look through the rest of my old books? Or would you rather… something else?" But Malik perked up at the mention of his books, and Mariku smiled. He really seemed to love to read… but more than likely, it was his way of coping. "I have so many old ones boxed up; they'd be glad to be read again. Bakura is gone, so we have all day together." Mariku chose ignored the small tensing Malik gave afterwards.

-

"Here," Mariku said, dusting off the top of a box he had dragged from the garage, "I don't have many, but you might like some of them." He moved away, letting Malik kneel down and take off the lid, silently shifting through the paperbacks to get to the hard covers. Standing near him, Mariku watched as he went through his books. His back was curved, in a sort of hunched position, hair falling into his pretty face, his lips open the slightest bit. And Mariku wanted to touch him so badly. Would it hurt if he just kissed him a little, run his hands up his shirt and down his pants and worship him? His intentions would be the same, he would love him just as much as if he waited, and would make him feel just as wonderful as he would do that night. Surely, it wouldn't hurt…? But, no, Mariku would have to wait. His first time would be special, not on the hard floor on which he stood now, shifting nervously. Mariku was resigned, and he would not let his spontaneous lust get the better of him.

"I used to work for a bookstore, you know." Mariku kneeled next to him, reaching out to twirl a piece of Malik's blonde hair around his finger, watching as it unraveled itself once he let go. "They gave me a lot of these, but most of them they were going to throw away anyway. But there were… other benefits. That was one of my favorite jobs." He smiled to himself. It seemed like such a long time ago that he had followed him… Of course, it was out of love, so he was justified. It was the _right_ thing and the _good_ thing to do, because if he hadn't, he couldn't have saved him from his old life. Malik was so much better off here.

But… the question that he had been asking himself recently arose once again: when would he tell Malik that he had been his Secret Lover? Malik didn't know, he was sure of it. There was no way that he could! But, maybe, if he DID know, Malik would love him back sooner. Because Malik had loved what he did for him, without question. He had taken his money, left his door open, and kept his window unlocked at night; those were not things one would do out of fear or hate. Deep down, Malik knew that he loved the things he had done on his behalf, loved the person that had helped him so much, and would love him once he knew that he had been the one who was always there. But today was a special day, and the day that he finally revealed himself as his Secret Lover would be special as well, but in an entirely different sense. Tonight would be the end of Malik's virginity, and the beginning of his new life, not the revelation of his acts of love.

"That's a good one, I actually read it all the way through." Malik looked up at him, book in hand, and Mariku was once again breath taken by his beauty. He stared into his eyes, loving how they seemed to hold so much depth, and how they mimicked a color similar to his own. "You can have it, if you want." Malik looked away back down to the book before setting it next to him and rummaging through the box again. After a while, Mariku looked at him curiously when he seemed to pause. Reaching out to his shoulder, Mariku stopped when he heard him speak.

"I want to go home."

And he was mad, so very, very mad. How dare Malik, after all the trouble he would go through today, after all the time he had put into making happy, ask him to leave? How dare he refuse to speak the entire day except to ask for something so…so…! Did Malik not understand? This was his home now! He wanted to hit him; badly.

"No." Mariku watched as Malik turned to look back up at him, that sad expression still on his face. 

'_Don't be mad, don't be mad. You don't want to hit him, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't be mad._'

Having to will himself to calm down, Mariku slowly came to his senses, horrified at his thoughts of hitting him. What… was he thinking? Malik needed him, Malik depended on him… and he wanted to hurt him? It wasn't right, and Mariku silently apologized for his thoughts. Malik didn't mean it, he knew he didn't, but it still hurt. When would he stop asking to be let free? He was the one who was making himself depressed, not Mariku… If he only gave in and saw reason, he would be happy. But Malik would be happy tonight. He would see how much he loved him, and then there would be no way that the feelings wouldn't be mutual. He was positive.

"Actually, Malik. You can have them all."

-

The rest of the day passed by slowly, and although Mariku was incredibly happy to have his Malik with him, he was making things very awkward and difficult. He wanted to talk with him, to have a good time with him, but Malik refused to talk, and he was forced to converse by himself. Without Malik's cooperation, there were limited things to do, which made Mariku the slightest bit annoyed. Eventually, after learning that Malik flat out _refused_ to give him any more sort of acknowledgement, Mariku had let him go back to his room, carrying the box of books with him. But it was okay, because it gave him time to think and… prepare. 

Mariku didn't use his room often, only for sleep and a place to dump his things. So when he left Malik to his own company, the first thing Mariku did (after making him Bombay soup for lunch) was completely scour the master bedroom from head to toe. Tonight was going to be special, and he wanted it to look like it, even if Mariku did hate to clean. But if it was for his Malik… he would do anything for his Malik. The sheets were changed, the floor was picked up, the laundry was taken to the first floor, and he went about to find… other things. Mariku had almost forgotten what lubricant was; Bakura really was a masochist. But Malik was not, and he didn't want to him hurt. No, the only thing he would feel would be pleasure and Mariku's love for him.

By the time he had finally finished, Mariku was surprised at how late it had grown, and the little flutters of anticipation returned. It was close now, around the time that he should start dinner, if he wanted it to be nice. But first, he wanted to see his Malik, in hope that he might maybe talk to him.

-

"Are you happy with them?" Mariku slowly opened his door, closing it with a 'click,' and smiled when Malik turned to look at him. "…Which one have you started?" Feeling a little put off when his Malik still refused to talk, Mariku shrugged it off, sitting down next to him a lot closer than he had before. It was an encouraging sign when Malik did not stiffen.

Malik kept his eyes downcast and his lips pursed, but turned the cover of the book so that he could read it.

"Seize the Day? That's not something I had expected you to read." Mariku laughed.

"I can read whatever I want, you can't keep me from that…" Malik's voice was bitter, and he looked up, surprised, when he spoke, not expecting a reply so soon. "You've taken away everything else I have, and I'm forced to live in this _suffocating_ room _every_ day, but reading is the one thing I have left, and I can choose which ones to read and which ones to not. You can't control that…" Malik drifted off, turning his head away, and Mariku sighed, saddened that Malik saw everything in such a negative light.

"You don't understand, Malik. This is the only way to keep you safe, to keep you with me. I'm not taking your life from you, only giving you a new one, a better one. Once you see that this is not something bad, when you accept it as something good, we can be happy, and you won't have to stay in here. But I know if I let you out, you'll try to leave me. Malik, I do this because I love you." Were his words getting through to him? Would he see that everything he said was true? Because it was, and Malik would accept it soon enough.

His expression stayed the same. Sad, always sad, and Mariku hated it. He couldn't stand it, couldn't understand it, didn't _want_ to understand it. His Malik was supposed to be happy now, and it went against everything he thought he had known when he wasn't. But Mariku could make it better, and he would. He would show Malik _how much_ he loved him, and after that, there would be no way that he would ever be sad again. And so Mariku held him tight then, taking Malik off guard as he jump slightly. He loved him so much, _so_ much, and even though he had promised himself to hold off all touch until that night, Mariku wanted to comfort him, and in a way, himself.

Malik was so warm, full of life, and he felt him slowly relax the longer he held him. He was doing that a lot, lately, and Mariku took it as more encouragement. Maybe Malik really was coming to his senses… Mariku kissed him softly on the cheek, regretting that he would have to leave soon. He never wanted moments like these to end… But there would be time later. Kissing him one last time, Mariku drew away, making Malik shudder. 

"I want you to take a shower, Malik. Get clean, put on something nice." Mariku watched as he looked up at him, nervous from the kisses but all the same, suspicious as to why he was asking such a thing. "Just do it, Malik. I'm not threatening you, just telling. You'll see why later, but for now, just listen, okay?" Mariku smiled and Malik frowned. But he knew he would obey, and left quietly, leaving him until dinner time.

-

Dinner had taken a long time to cook. Of course, there were breaks in between the prep time and when he actually had to _cook_, but by the time it was done, it was six o'clock, and Mariku was nervous. Only a couple more hours, and he would be experiencing what he had dreamed of for such a long time… Mariku felt the corners of his lips turn up into another smile, turning away from the mirror where he had be critiquing himself. Malik was not the only one who he had wanted to look nice, and he had taken a shower as well. Because he wanted tonight to be _perfect_, and although Malik always looked beautiful, he would look just a little bit more so now. But Mariku wanted to look good as well, and had taken time after dinner was finished to work on his appearance. His clothes were nice (not a suit, or anything drastic like that, but he donned a dressier outfit than he would usually wear), his hair was perfect, and his shoes were shined… in a metaphorical sense of things. Sweeping a clump of bangs out of his face, Mariku left the bathroom and made his way to his Malik's own room.

The walk was short, right down the hall, and he wondered if Malik knew how close they were together. He paused, hand in position to knock, but lowered it and leaned against the door instead.

The time had finally come, but Mariku wondered if _he_ was really ready… Could he show Malik how much he loved him? Would he understand and accept it? Would he truly love him afterwards? But… no. Mariku loved him, and that's all he needed to know. He could show him everything, there was no doubt about that. Everything would go fine… but why did he feel so nervous? Mariku gulped, closing his eyes. His Malik would be there, his beautiful, wonderful Malik, and they would be together. This was everything he had dreamed about, everything he had always wanted. And with that, how could he be nervous?

Taking in a shaky breath, Mariku rid himself of any unwanted thoughts, and tapped lightly upon his door. Not waiting to try and hear any sort of welcome, Mariku let himself in. Malik sat on his bed, head turned away from him, hair still the slightest bit wet, and it made him happy that he had indeed listened to him and showered. Though, it was the only thing he had done, and still wore his favorite shirt, the one that covered his arms all the way down. 

"I want you to come downstairs with me." Mariku stepped in front of him, and Malik flicked his eyes up before glancing away again. "I have a surprise for you." 

Waiting for Malik to stand, Mariku frowned when he didn't, and offered a hand out to him. Malik ignored it and shifted, before finally standing as well. Having his hand rejected, he found another use for it and reached out for Malik's own, twining their fingers together, and as always, Malik's stayed lax. He looked up, surprised, and Mariku was taken off guard by his despondent expression, so Mariku smiled softly down at him, trying to fix it through even the smallest of ways.

"Come on." And Malik didn't give a word otherwise as he led him out of the room and down the familiar hallways. It was only a couple flights of stairs, and his grasp on his hand tightened the closer they got. All to soon, Mariku found himself stopping them outside the living room doorway, and Malik had to stop himself from bumping into him, something he found very cute.

"Close your eyes." Malik frowned. "Just do it." And he did. Waiting a couple of seconds afterward, Mariku tugged on his hand, walking forward a little, and felt the familiar giddiness that Malik gave him when he tightened hand, holding his now as well. 

Malik stumbled slightly behind him, and he had to shuffle to keep him from falling, but he made it to the table eventually, and to his displeasure, let go of his hand. "Don't look yet, Malik." And Malik obeyed, standing with his eyes closed, frowning, as Mariku pulled a chair out for him. Reaching out for his hand again, Malik jumped a little when their skin touched, and let himself be led towards where Mariku was standing. "Sit down." Malik seemed nervous, and Mariku understood. "Don't worry, you're not going to fall. Just sit." Hesitating a little, Malik sat on the seat he had given him, albeit a little clumsily. Letting his hand go for the last time, Mariku drew away, taking his own seat. 

"Open your eyes, Malik." Needing no more further convincing, Malik did.

The table was set out before them, the food Mariku had prepared adorning the red table cloth, and a candle was lit, his own personal touch (Mariku did not know much about romance, so he hoped that the cliché action would do). The plates were expensive, intricate and baroque designs twisting and swirling through each other on the edges, expensive silverware and shimmering champagne glasses, the matching bottle sitting near the center of the table. And the food was, within itself, extravagant. The time he had spent making it went to good use; sea-scallops with cauliflower puree, sautéed vegetables, Tapenade, and Zarzuela as an entrée. Mariku was proud, so happy that he had that he had made such a wonderful meal for his Malik, and was disappointed when Malik did not share his enthusiasm for what he had done, and did not even seem surprised. Feeling a bit dejected, Mariku covered it up with a smile, because he knew that deep down, Malik was making it a conscious effort to try and not show his appreciation.

"Do you like it, Malik? I did this all for you. …I love you, Malik." The expression he gave next couldn't be recognized, so Mariku ignored it, reaching over for the bottle of champagne. 

Since Malik no longer had to worry with the rules of society, Mariku was his law now, and he deemed it acceptable for him to have alcohol (Even though he knew that kids his age were drinking a lot worse than just that). He uncapped it, pouring Malik's glass first, and handing it back to him with a smile, before filling his own. Malik lifted it up and eyed it, not seeming to trust the liquid, and Mariku excused him. "If you don't like it, I'll get you water. But you have to at least try it first." Malik closed his eyes, setting it back down and leaning back into his chair. "…" Mariku opened his mouth to say something, anything, but closed it, not knowing the words to use. "What… would you like? Do you want to try some Tapenade? I know you'll like it." 

It took a while, but Mariku finally managed to convince Malik to start eating. He took his bites tentatively, lifting the fork full of scallops to his mouth slowly, taking his time to chew, and all the while stared at him untrustingly. Mariku diverted his eyes, taking a sip of the champagne. The mood was tense, and Mariku was once again reminded of how much he wanted Malik to know who he was. Because truly, he didn't _know_ who _he was_. Yes, he knew he was Mariku, and yes, he knew him as the person who had kidnapped him, but… it just… it would be better if he knew.

"How was your day today?" As if Mariku didn't know the answer…

"…In what sense? Horrible, but compared to the rest... fine." 

How he had managed to lure him into talking, Mariku would never know, but the heavy, tense feeling had left almost completely, and it was truly turning into the night that he had imagined. Malik spoke to him, admittedly, not was much as he would like (Malik still being fond of his one or two word replies), but they talked none the less, and Mariku felt so close to him. Time went by quickly, much to his distaste, and Mariku almost laughed when he felt sorry for it to leave. After all, they had the whole night together.

"Here, I'll get you some more to drink. I'll get you some water, too. Here, give me your glass, I have another bottle of champagne that you might like more." In the end, Malik had made things too easy, and he made his way into the kitchen, Malik's glass in his hand. Shutting the kitchen door _just in case_ Malik got suspicious, Mariku opened the door to the refrigerator, taking out the other bottle of champagne he had. And without any further thought, he took a small package out of his pocket, opened it, and dumped just the right amount into the drink he had just poured for him. Swishing it around a little, Mariku watched critically as the GHB mixed in with the liquid, virtually unnoticeable. Malik wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Sorry, my Malik. All the cups are dirty. If you're still thirsty, I suppose I can wash one after dinner, but first, I made a dessert you might like." Setting the glass down in front of him, Mariku watched as he took a sip, his nerves going away when he didn't notice anything different or salty tasting about it. He had brought a plate of sabayon fruit with him, and took a couple of pieces for himself, but gave the rest to Malik.

He ate the dish with more enthusiasm than the others, as fruit was familiar and sweet, not adorned with foreign vegetables and spices like the others. Mariku watched silently, intently noticing every small little move he made, wondering when the drug would take place. And then he stopped, putting down his fork, and looked up.

"I feel tired…"

"I know, Malik." And so he moved, standing up and pushing in his chair to reach his boy, who looked up, confused and lethargic.

"I don't-" It was almost sad, the way he looked so… helpless, the way that he didn't know why he suddenly felt so tired, and how Mariku did. 

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Mariku smiled, holding onto his shoulders when the drug finally kicked into full gear, making him fall asleep almost instantly. 

Malik's body leaned back into his hands, a sign that he truly was unconscious, and Mariku sighed, pleased that it had gone so well. He would had loved to have not had to resort to drugging him, to have him come willingly, but Mariku knew he wouldn't comply, and he didn't want to force him. Lifting Malik out of his chair, Mariku had to concentrate on not dropping him when he picked him up. Although Malik was skinny and generally light, he was not short, and Mariku found that the only way he could get him upstairs was to carry him. Propping one arm underneath his bent legs and keeping the other underneath his shoulders, Mariku lifted him up with a little effort. Holding Malik tight and close, Mariku left the dining room and made his way through the living room and up stairs.

The extra weight of Malik's body made the trip slower, and he often had to pause to get a better hold on so he wouldn't fall, but Mariku didn't really mind. It was so nice to hold him, to have him so close to his body… Finally reaching the third floor, Mariku had to kick his door open, having no free hands. Reaching the bed, Mariku laid him down gently, resting his head on a pillow. 

He looked so beautiful, then. So peaceful and unaware in his repose. His lips were parted the slightest bit, and his hair framed his face. Letting his hand trace his jaw, Mariku swept a piece of his bangs out of his face, tucking it behind his ear, and Mariku smiled. Taking off his jacket, he let it fall to the floor. Silently, he moved to the bed, laying down on his side next to Malik, and leaned over him the smallest bit.

This was… everything he could have asked for. His Malik, this night… And maybe his Malik had been made for him, his perfect companion, the answer to his loneliness and rejection of his race. Because he was truly everything he had lacked in his life, and the feeling of finally having him was… indescribable. Everything that Malik was and what Malik gave to him and made him feel couldn't be expressed through simple, pathetic _words_. It was just the absolute _feeling_, the knowledge of what was happening, the way he made him so happy… that he could never explain. Mariku accepted it, and it made it just the more real and deep. Was there a god, for what reason do people exist, the idea of love… Mariku didn't need the answers. He felt them all, knew them all, just like the way that he knew that he loved Malik with everything he was. And maybe, if Malik had been made for him, he had been created for Malik in return. Maybe he was the one who's purpose was to save this boy, to take care of this boy, to _love_ this boy… If that was his one true meaning for life, Mariku knew that he would never be unhappy again. Malik was his everything.

Leaning over just a little bit more, Mariku kissed him for the first time that night. It was slow, and it made his heart beat faster. Even though Malik himself did not respond, the feeling of euphoria took him over, because there was nothing like it. He was desperate, wanted him so badly, and he took his head into his hands, kissing him deeper. Mariku drew away after a while, breathing a little faster than he had been before and closed his eyes, pulling Malik to him and kissed his neck. Knowing it would be a couple of hours until Malik woke up again, Mariku had time to just lay with him, petting his hair and touching him. Twining his leg with Malik's, he smiled contently. How good it felt to hold him, to feel his skin, to have him so close that he could hear his breathing and heartbeat…

Thinking back on it later, Mariku must have nodded off, but when he felt Malik start to move a little, he woke up, worried when the effect of the drug was wearing off. Sitting up and leaving the bed, he went to his dresser, opening the top drawer and taking out the rope he had bought. Looking back at Malik, he let go of the breath he had been holding when he saw that he was still asleep. Knowing that he still had a little more time left before he became conscious, Mariku shut the drawer and made his way back to the bed. It was a shame that he had to tie him, but Mariku knew that he would be scared at first and would try to get away, and he couldn't have that. So leaning over him, he took his wrists into his hands and tied them together, tight enough that he couldn't break free but not so rough that it cut off his blood circulation. Taking the end of the rope, he tied it to the headboard, giving a little slack. 

Satisfied with his work, Mariku smiled when Malik groaned, signaling his awakening. Laying back down next to him, he held him once again, feeling him shift every so often. And by the time Malik finally woke up, Mariku squeezed him to himself tighter.

"Where…" Malik's voice was shaky from non-use, and his eyes flickered open half way, still cloudy from lethargy. He was confused when he saw how close Mariku was to him, and he didn't miss the little flicker of fear in his eyes because of this. And then, trying to twist away, Malik really did look scared when the rope refused to let him leave.

"Tonight is a special night, Malik. Tonight, I can't let you leave." Mariku looked fondly at him, running his fingers slowly through his hair, trying to calm him.

"Wh-what are you doing? Let me go!" His eyes were wide, and he turned his head sharply to the side to look at him, Mariku taken aback at his expression.

"I told you, Habibi, I can't let you trying to get away. Don't be scared, you'll like it. Just relax." And he moved then, leaning across Malik's body to something on the bedside table, and Malik squirmed underneath him. Drawing away, he ran his hand down Malik's cheek, going back up again with his knuckles, trying to calm the way he was breathing so heavily.

"Don't be scared, please, Malik, don't be scared of me. I'm not going to hurt you… how many times do I have to say it? Oh Malik…" But he still continued to squirm and stare fearfully up at him. And Mariku hated that expression of his. He used it often, and it made Mariku mad. How many times would he have to repeat himself before his Malik learned that he wouldn't be hurt? But if Malik continued to ignore what he said, then there was no point in reassuring him any more. Mariku continued with his plans.

Sitting up so that he now was on his knees, Mariku flicked up the knife he had taken, noticing how Malik's eyes widened even more. 

"S-sto-"

But Mariku ignored him. He knew what was best for him, that he needed to be touched, and Mariku didn't think he could stop if he tried. Moving it towards Malik's stomach, he began to thrash, trying to kick him away. It was incredibly dangerous and stupid, trying to kick him while he was holding a knife, and so Mariku dropped it to grab his ankles.

"No, Malik." He said it with a dark air, almost threateningly, but there was no other way to get his point across. When he dropped his legs and Malik did not resume struggling, Mariku picked the knife back up again, and put it at the bottom of his shirt and moved his arm up, tearing the fabric in a clean, straight line.

Taking a glance up at Malik to see how he was faring, Mariku was not surprised to see that his expression had turned horrified. He knew Malik was scared, but he would always be until he taught him that there was no reason to, and the only way to do that was to face his fear head on. Taking the knife at an angle, he cut up both sleeves of his shirt so that it finally all fell away from his body. Malik started to shake.

"Oh, my Malik," But he was so beautiful, his gorgeous, smooth skin. Not that he hadn't seen his naked torso before, but this time, he would be allowed to touch, and he would make the most of the opportunity. "Look at how beautiful you are. Are you scared of this, of showing yourself to me?" He placed a hand on his stomach and moved it in circles, traveling to his sides and just below his chest. And it felt _so_ good that he was finally able to touch him like this. Malik squeezed his eyes shut, furrowing his eyebrows, and made a pleading sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob, and he began to shake once again, and Mariku felt every small little tremor. "Don't, you shouldn't be. I'm not like everybody else, Malik. I will take care of you, I will keep you safe. You shouldn't be so scared, ashamed, to present your body to me. I'm not going to hurt you, I would never hurt you, Malik. All I want is to look at you and touch you… is that so hard to ask? Nothing you do will ever go without reward. If you show me your body, I will make you feel wonderful."

"M-Mariku, this isn't funny." Mariku looked up, a bit surprised that he was speaking in more than just one or two word sentences. "Please, Mariku, l-let me go." He said it with such seriousness, resolution in his eyes, pleading, always pleading, and Mariku sighed.

"No, Malik. Not this time." And oh, he looked scared then. Did he finally understand?

It was with great satisfaction then that Mariku finally leaned down and kissed him on his stomach, his first kiss that Malik was conscious for. His skin was so smooth, and there was so much of it, here, and Mariku felt himself becoming drunk in the sensation as he kissed him over and over again. He moved his arms to his sides, languidly touching him as he continued to kiss his way down his abdomen. Malik was strangely still as he did this, but he didn't look up. Mariku didn't want to see his scared face, and so he indulged himself in the pleasure of worshipping his body.

And maybe it was because he was so, so close, or that Mariku always had the need to absolutely _taste_ the body he kissed, but Mariku felt the familiar need to lick him. He wanted to, badly, to drag his tongue across his beautiful skin and touch him and kiss him and lick him and be so close to him, taste everything that was his Malik. And since this was his night to finally be able to give life to his sexual desires, Mariku did. Continuing to kiss him near his navel, he let his tongue flick out, just a little at first, and moved his body so that it was halfway covering Malik's.

The sudden move must have scared him, because Mariku was very, very close, and he could once again feel the shaking that Malik gave. But he ignored it, telling himself that it would pass, and let his tongue have full access to his Malik's body. The feelings were overwhelming, with Malik so close and his mouth on him and his tongue and he felt and he tasted everything and was breathing heavy-it was too much. Because his whole world at that moment was his Malik. His Malik's skin, his Malik's heartbeat, his Malik's erratic breathing, and the return of his Malik's scared, pleading little noises. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt, and he wanted to kiss him on his lips then, taste Malik there, where it mattered the most. So he trailed his kisses upward, every so often letting his tongue drag across his skin, to his neck where he stopped.

This area of his Malik he knew well. It was familiar, this skin. This was the first place he had marked him. In a tribute and recognition of this, Mariku kissed him softly here. Light, small little kisses, all up and down his neck and the underside of his chin. He could hear his Malik breath, in, out, i-in, o-out, in… out, in out in out. Malik was still scared, but he was being very good, letting him touch him without a fight. Whether if it was from the receding effect of the drug, if he was somewhat frozen by fear, or Malik did come to his senses and realize that his touches were good, Mariku did not know. 

He sucked on the skin on his neck, closing his eyes and let himself feel the sensations of it all, making another love mark where the old ones had long ago faded away. This was his Malik, _his_ Malik, and he would show the world how much he loved him. He drew back a little, pleased with his work, and moved to make more. Mariku lost track of time, making a mark and then wanting to make another, the cycle repeating itself over and over, but here, time did not matter. His love bites covered all up and down his neck and collar bone, a couple drifting to the bottom of his chin and shoulder where they finally melded into his skin. It was a little disappointing that they weren't more extravagant. When he was allowed to make marks on Bakura's skin, they always stood out, contrasting against his pale complexion. But, no. This was not about Bakura, and Malik's looked just as beautiful, more, even. Whispering murmurs of approval and encouragement, Mariku smiled, finally moving to look him in the eyes.

Oh, his Malik was so beautiful, his face contorted in fear and sadness, and Mariku felt the sick desire to make him cry, to make him suffer, to make him _pay_ for everything that had happened. The feeling was ignored, pushed to the back of his mind, and he held his head in his hands, leaning his forehead against his Malik's. And he could be content with just this. If this was as far as he would go, Mariku would be fine with it, this feeling of absolute love and completeness… 

"I love you, Malik." He said it softly, lovingly, trying in anyway to portray his feelings, and gently, he kissed him on the lips. 

It was as if everything he had felt and done before had become null and void, the feeling of his lips against his Malik's rivaling everything he had ever felt before. He wanted to be closer, so much closer as he kissed him desperately, holding his head closer to his own. It was hot, their breath heavy and drawn out, and Mariku felt as if he could lose himself here, in his Malik. But his Malik did not kiss back, and Mariku felt something wet on his cheek. Lingering for one last kiss, Mariku pulled back, not knowing to be surprised or not when his Malik had begun to cry silently. Or maybe, surprised wasn't the right word, but completely disheartened and guilty. Had he gone too fast? Had he pushed things too far? Maybe he had, but Mariku knew how to fix it.

"You're doing so good, Malik. Don't cry, please, I promise you that I will make you feel wonderful. Don't be scared… it will be over sooner than you will want. Just calm down, Malik. I'll make you relax." 

Moving to sit up on his knees again, Mariku picked up the forgotten knife and put it back onto the bedside table, worried that he had forgotten about it, and exchanged it for a red bottle. He uncapped it and Malik looked nervously up at him.

"Don't worry, it's nothing to be scared of." And it wasn't, but when Mariku put the bottle away and placed his hands back onto his stomach, Malik gasped, squeezing his eyes shut once again and clenching his teeth, his eyebrows always furrowed.

Mariku moved his hands up and down his stomach, rubbing the lotion onto his skin, something he hoped would gradually make him relax. Malik was still as he worked, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, the tears continuing to spill out of his closed eyes, and he twisted his hands in his bonds. Every so often Mariku would touch a sensitive place, and his Malik would gasp, sharply tugging on the rope. The little noises he made, whether out of fear or twisted pleasure, had begun to make him hard, and Mariku let go of a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. Of course, from the very beginning, he had been hard (that was how much he loved him!) but it gave it a new meaning now, and he wanted to touch Malik in a different way.

But Malik had begun to make things difficult, becoming more physical in his attempts to escape, and writhed on the bed, pulling and tugging at the ropes around his wrists. The tears had stopped, but the pleading had not.

"P-please, stop, don't do this to me. Y-you don't even know… Please, please!" Always begging.

"No, my Malik. _No._" Malik dry sobbed, hiding his face into the crook of his arm. The struggling resumed after a while, and Mariku frowned.

"Just relax, my Malik. Relax, be calm, it will be so much easier for the both of us. Ssshh…" Mariku smiled, rubbing small circles onto his sides. The lotion was cool against his touch, clashing with the heat that was radiating from Malik's body. Chest rising and falling erratically, Malik squirmed, making a small noise in the back of his throat. Leaning down, Mariku kissed his neck softly again, licking at the skin there. He dragged his tongue downwards, just wanting to taste him, to cherish him, feeling so desperate as he moaned into his Malik's smooth, bronze skin. 

His hands moved downwards, continuing to massage his body, while he moved over him, legs on either side of his Malik's own. Trying to ignore the pleading noises he made, Mariku furrowed his eyebrows deeply, sucking on his shoulder. This was what Malik wanted, this was good for him, he just didn't know it yet. Maybe it was denial… but all he needed was persuasion. Malik would thank him later. Switching to the other side of his collarbone, he groaned, quickly growing harder, imagining having Malik's hands on him. But he couldn't untie him; he would run. Making one last love bite, Mariku withdrew to study his work once again. Malik looked up at him, petrified, biting his lip, eyes wide as he struggled desperately. He twisted in the rope, hands clenching and unclenching, and Mariku noticed the little specks of blood that had formed there. Horrified, Mariku moved to forcefully make him calm, holding his chest down into the mattress, placing his other hand onto his wrists.

"Please, stop struggling, you'll hurt yourself. I don't want you to be in pain. Please, just stop it, for your sake and mine." And Mariku really was surprised this time when Malik glared at him, not expecting that sort of reaction.

"You are the one doing this to me! You are the one who's hurting me! Let me go, leave me be, let me go home!"

Mariku gave no reply, and Malik slumped back into the pillows, clenching his teeth together when Mariku moved to his nipples, his tone of voice turning from angry and blaming back to scared and fearful. The lotion on his hand had run out, so Mariku squeezed some more out onto his palm and placed it back onto his chest, which made Malik gasp once again. His hand ran smoothly across his chest, smearing the lotion into his skin, drifting back to his nipples where they stopped, the only sound Malik's labored breathing. He drew circles upon them, around them, and over them, watching as they became hard.

It took a long, long while, somewhere, he guessed, to be about half an hour or more before Malik had finally started to relax. Eventually, his struggling stopped and he was still, eyes closed, concentrating on not trying to become tense. This made Mariku incredibly happy, and his touches became softer, but more deliberate. A couple times his hands left his body, and his mouth replaced them, licking and kissing his skin, breathing deeply and letting his mind become absorbed in his boy's being. Malik smelled of citrus fruit. Sweet and exotic.

And finally, Mariku felt he was ready. Running his fingers through his hair one last time, Mariku moved his hands down to the top of his pants. Malik had been in a daze, his mind clouded from forcing himself to relax, but when he slowly unbuttoned his pants and began to pull them down his legs, Malik came full back to reality. In his panic and fear, he kicked Mariku in the chest, making him fall back a little. His kick had been hard and well aimed, and Mariku was caught off guard. Coughing a little, Mariku looked up, surprised and angry. He grabbed Malik's ankles when Malik tried kicking him again, and twisted his leg painfully, making Malik gasp, his eyes wide.

"Don't do that, Malik. I'm not trying to hurt you, but you give me no choice. I can tie your legs down as well if you don't behave." The feeling of wanting to punish him returned, and Mariku squeezed his ankles one last time before letting them fall back to the bed. But just in case, he moved to an angle where his own legs rested on them, giving him no room to kick. Because Mariku did not want to have his legs tied down, but he knew that Malik would try to kick again, and this way, it solved both of his problems.

His pants came off easily, and Mariku had to move off of his legs to take them all the way off, but he kept his arm pressed fully down so that he could not move. And then the only thing left was his underwear. Hooking his fingers into the top of it, Mariku smiled to himself. This was really real.

"N-No. Don't. Just stop, s-stop. Don't do it, please don't do it, _please!_"

But his pleading was ignored, and Mariku tugged down on the fabric, letting it follow the same path his pants had taken.

"Oh, but Malik, this part of you is beautiful, too."

Even the first time that he had fully seen him naked could not compare to this moment. Because this moment was _theirs_, Mariku was with him, and Malik acknowledged him. He knew he was there, that he was touching him, that he was looking at him, that he was _loving_ him; Malik was all his. But he was… disappointed. Even with all of the work that he had gone through to get him relaxed was extirpated as he was tense now more than ever, and the fact that Mariku had loved it, loved touching him, but Malik did not and was completely limp made him sad. But surely, after he was done, Malik would love him in return.

"I want you to know I love you, Malik. So, so much. I love you, Habibi, truly, I do." And Mariku watched as Malik look down at him, horrified, petrified, ashamed, and disgusted. 

Moving from his kneeling position to a more comfortable one, laying halfway on his legs (just in case), Mariku kissed the inside of his thigh, licking the skin there and sucked, making just one love mark in something he viewed as symbolic. But he couldn't wait any longer, didn't _want_ to, and as eagerly as he could, took Malik's sex into his mouth. 

He heard Malik gasp above him, his pleading cutting off sharply as he began to sob loudly, trying to move his hips away from his mouth and yanking in the ropes. This was it, though. He could show Malik how good it is to be touched, just how much he loved him, and then… he would finally return his feelings. As Malik's crying urged him on, Mariku began to suck, desperate to portray his love. He ran his tongue down the length of it, curving around the base, and he wanted him _so bad_. Malik loved him, he did, because he slowly started to form an erection, his body begging for his touch. Drawing away for a quick breath, Mariku resumed, taking his erection in one hand and pumping it, using his mouth to suck on the head.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, n-no, please, stop…" Malik sobbed his eyes filled with terror has his tears leaked over his cheeks and rolled onto his chest, a pretty blush formed over the bridge of his nose. He was breathing heavily, panting, almost, and moaned when Mariku did something different with his mouth. He could say that he hated it, that he hated him, that he did not want this, but Mariku knew he did. He had to. It was concrete, there was no question about it.

Everything felt like sex, from the heat and Malik's moans to the way he writhed and thrust into his mouth, needing friction, _wanting_ it. Malik was trembling, crying, begging, pleading, terrified and horrified, but it was okay because Mariku loved him and Mariku made him feel wonderful. He knew that Malik couldn't help the way he was feeling, but it didn't change anything. Malik was male, and when stimulated, he would react, but it was Mariku who was doing it, and right now, he knew the only thing on his mind was Mariku's touches and the pleasure building in his body, and Malik wanted it, desperately, despite the fact that he had intense fear of sexual contact. Mariku was changing this, he was showing him that it wasn't bad, because he loved him, and was so happy that it had worked. Malik had to know how deep his love ran.

It was when Malik so desperately began to moan and buck upward into his mouth that Mariku knew he was close to release. It was coming much too soon for Mariku's taste, but Malik was young, and surely he never had felt so much stimulation before, so it was okay. Holding his hips down with one arm, Mariku noticed that even after leaving his legs unattended, he did not try and kick. Encouraged, Mariku sucked harder, his hand leaving to bob up and down his erect penis, as Malik sobbed the loudest he had that night. It was a feeling close to euphoria when Malik finally came, cumming in his mouth, and for that moment, Malik did not cry, did not beg for release, and did not claim to hate him. In that moment, the only thing that was on his mind was Mariku and what he had done for him. He was so happy, so, so happy that he had done something so wonderful for his Malik, that he was able to do it, proud and fulfilled as he licked up the little bit of cum that had missed his mouth. Mariku wanted more.

Smiling, he watched Malik's face in his orgasmic stupor, and he had never looked more beautiful. With his eyes closed and his mouth open, the look of absolute pleasure on his face, the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed quickly… and Mariku had been the one who caused it. He moved up to kiss him, delighted when Malik gave no retaliation so that he could gently prod his tongue into his mouth, tasting him. But Malik's bliss was short lived as he moved after kissing him to hold him close. 

"Please, just kill me." 

Mariku paused from stroking his face to hold him tighter, the horrible feeling of sadness clinging to his heart. This was wrong, Malik was supposed to be loving him now. Didn't he see how much he loved him? But… maybe he just needed more encouragement. Yes, just a little more time.

"My beautiful Malik… I… how could you ask that of me? Do you still, even now, not know how much I love you? Malik, please don't say things like that. …I love you Malik, I love you so much…" Maybe the more he told him he loved him, the better chance he had at having him realize the truth.

"I-I want to die. Anything is better than this. If you love me, y-you'll kill me now." Oh god, he was crying again.

"I do love you, more than anything, and that's why you're here now, and why I can't kill you. Do you not believe me? I have more proof, Malik." And he watched as Malik looked at him in abject terror as he moved back down to his legs.

"W-what are you doing? M-Mariku…!" His name sounded so beautiful when he said it, and Mariku smiled, propping his hips up underneath a pillow. 

"I'm going to show you how good I can make you feel, even better than orgasm, my Malik. This is to show you that touch is good, it's not disgusting, because I love you, and intent means everything. I love you, Malik, I love you."

Sticking a finger into his mouth and sucking, Malik was speechless as he took it out and slowly pressed it into his entrance. He made little disbelieving sounds, his breath hitching as Mariku touched him in his most private area. Again, it was a feeling close to euphoria when Mariku realized that he was the first person who had, and would ever, touch him here. This part of Malik was all his, his to touch and love and worship, his beautiful, beautiful boy… Mariku stopped when his finger reached the knuckle, and looked up at Malik, who's tears had stopped at this point out of shock and terror. His finger was small enough that it didn't hurt, only caused a bit of discomfort, but large enough that he could accomplish what he was hoping he would do. 

Waiting as Malik grew used to his finger inside him (well, as used to as he would ever become), he began to move it slowly in and out of him, waiting for that tell tale sign. Malik was perfectly silent and still, his eyes large as he thrust his finger inside of him. Mariku leaned over his body to kiss him at an awkward angle as his hand continued it's motions, and Malik's lips held no resistance, but did not give him lee way in the slightest. In all senses of things, Malik had truly frozen up, and he was staring off into the distance at some spot on the wall. Put off (at least he had before acknowledged him with cries, now, he didn't get so much as a look his way), Mariku drew away, focused back on his lower regions, knowing the way to get Malik's mind back onto him. Curving his finger a little, he moved it at an angle, and that's when he heard Malik moan, closing his eyes. He stopped moving his hand, and kept his finger on that place and pressed down softly, watching as Malik bit his lip, trying to hold back his vocalization.

"Do you know what this is, Malik?" He asked, rubbing that spot over and over. "I can make you feel so good, like if I touch you like _this._" And he thrust his finger hard over that spot, making Malik's leg twitch, his eyes squeezed shut. "This is the place that only I can touch you, my Malik. I touch you here because I love you. I touch you here because I want you to receive pleasure. I touch you here because I want you to _know_ how much I love you. It feels good, I know it does. Tell me it does, my Malik." Malik squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to open his mouth. But it didn't matter to Mariku. He would be begging him for more later.

Waiting a little longer for a reply and when learning that he would not be getting one, he rubbed his finger onto Malik's prostate, getting the desired effect when he tried squeezing his thighs together, which Mariku only shoved back apart. He continued to pleasure him, relishing in his moans as they spilled unwillingly from his mouth. And then to Malik's absolute horror, Mariku watched as he became hard once again. But Mariku did not touch him, giving him no sort of relief as he rocked his fingers into him, having added a second when Malik was not aware, pleased when he did not notice or fight back. Malik's thighs and sides were trembling, making little 'nn' noises every time he rubbed his prostate. 

Having came just a little while earlier, Mariku was not surprised when Malik seemed once again desperate for contact. His body had been rigged after orgasm, and the GHB he had given him might have affected his sexual need. In any case, Mariku drunk in the moan he got when he ran his unoccupied hand down his Malik's new erection. But he wanted Malik to tell him how much he wanted it before he pleasured him. His touches were light, teasing, and he soon let his fingers drift down past him member to run through his pubic hair, which was blonde like the rest of his hair, something he found incredibly cute and sexy. Malik groaned, a few stray tears joining the history of the rest that he had cried as he thrust his hips up for friction. 

"Poor Malik… if only you'd tell me how much you want me. That's all you have to do, Habibi, and then I'll touch you as much as you like." It was so easy to bend his wants around his finger until he was stripped of pride and fear, left only in a state of perpetual pleasure and need.

"N-no…" Malik moaned, his breath catching at the end when Mariku pressed down harder than he had really meant to.

If Malik refused, than Mariku felt no guilt when he added a third and rubbed quickly and harshly onto his prostate, making Malik bend a little at the middle and whimper. He clenched down upon his fingers, panting and thrashing his head from side to side, a pathetic way to try and rid himself with the horrible feeling of want. Everything that Malik did, he felt lost in, completely captivated by his every movement and noise, and he was drenched in these feelings in a figurative sense from Malik's being.

He looked so helpless, so pathetic as he lay beneath him and writhed, moaning and sobbing from pleasure, yet getting no relief. But he could end it all if he only admitted how much he loved Mariku, loved his touches. Leaning his torso over him, Mariku rested his face in his neck, mouth close to his ear as he spoke.

"Malik, just say it. Don't put yourself through this." Mariku supposed that it was cheating, but he moved his hand to pump him up and down, and Malik gasped, thrusting into his hand. But he drew his hand back quickly, and Malik sobbed. 

"Say it." He wanted to hear it so bad.

No reply.

"Say it." His fingers slipped back into him.

Malik sobbed.

"Say it." He pressed down, stroking his sweet spot.

Malik moaned.

"Say it."

"Please…" Malik choked, his face burning from humiliation and horror at what he had belittled himself to doing.

"Please what, my Malik? Tell me." Mariku's heart beat faster, watching his face as he struggled with his conflicting emotions and desires.

"Please, t-touch me. I want y-you…" He had to strain to hear it, a whisper, but Mariku smiled, having finally coaxed him into what he had wanted to hear the entire night.

"Of course, Habibi." And his hand took him then, gripping him tightly and moved up and down, quicker with the movements of his hand. 

At a point, he had moved back down to his legs, and his hand left him to be replaced with his mouth as he kissed and licked at him, precum leaking from his tip, his fingers never stopping their abuse inside of him. Malik was very close now, and he sucked one last time before letting his hand replace what his tongue had been doing. This time, he wanted to see his face when he came, the look of complete pleasure as it took him over. In hope to hurry the process along, he stroked him faster, mimicking his other hand's motions into a fast, steady rhythm. 

There was more of a warning this time when he came as Malik's inner muscles clamped down on his fingers. His head fell back and he writhed, mouth open as he moaned one last time as he reached orgasm. And Mariku got to see it all. Got to see the relief as he finally came, the way his eyebrows furrowed and he cried out, twisting helplessly, that pretty, pretty blush covering all the way across his cheeks. Malik slumped back, panting, and Mariku wiped the cum off of his stomach and thighs, licking his hand of the substance. It always tasted disgusting, he would not lie, but this was his Malik, and he loved it.

His Malik lay back against the pillows, absolutely spent, his thighs still spread open in a way that, if it were anybody else, would have been sluttish. He let him recover, then, because Mariku was very pleased, ecstatic, even. Malik had admitted his that he needed him, that he wanted him, and Mariku could not have asked for anything else. He loved him so much… Mariku sighed happily, laying down next to Malik and kissed his cheek.

It was sad, almost, that Malik seemed happy that it was over. But it wasn't, and Mariku was so hard it hurt. He had been waiting for this for so long, from the start of the day, to the very first time he had seen him… he wanted to make Malik _his. _He would be gentle, and kissing him on the nose, Mariku sat up, noticing how Malik watched him vaguely through his tired haze.

"Don't fall asleep on me, my Malik. There's one thing left to do." He looked scared at Mariku's words, and so he smiled at him, sweeping a piece of hair from his face.

It was painfully obvious how hard he was, and Mariku wondered if Malik had ever noticed, but thought of what was to come made it mean so little that he brushed it aside without a second thought. Wanting to wait no longer (and not thinking he could), Mariku lifted the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor next to the bed. Malik stared at him, and it didn't seem to click in his head. But just as it was wonderful to see his Malik presented before him, Mariku in return felt a little feeling of something at the thought of Malik seeing him in return. He knew he was attractive; people had told him many times before, and hopefully his Malik might share those ideas. Though, it would be okay if he didn't voice them. Mariku would be fine with that.

But when he placed his hands onto the top of his pants and started to undo his belt, Malik gasped sharply, his eyes wide as he tried twisting away, and actually managed to get his body further away from him. His reaction wasn't odd within itself, but the way he looked, the way he seemed so… Mariku didn't know what words to use, but as he pulled his belt off, he watched as Malik became jittery almost. Frowning, he brushed it aside as nerves, and slowly undid his pants and Malik stared at every movement of his hands. It was nice, in a sort of twisted way, to have Malik watch as he undressed, and if he concentrated enough, he could pretend that he was in one of his fantasies, where Malik had ordered him to strip for him. But his fantasies came no where near what was happening now, and when all of his clothes finally left his body, the need to have Malik underneath him and screaming mounted to a new level.

"Do you really love me?" He was not expecting the question that followed, however, and smiled when he asked it, reaching out to run his hand down his face.

"More than anything in the world, my Malik."

"Then don't do this to me." His hand paused, resting on the curve of his face, and he did not know the right way to respond to him. Because it… wasn't a question, Malik wasn't asking him. Malik was telling him.

"You will thank me later. You will love it, I promise." Giving another smile, he moved back down to the area near his legs, and Malik whimpered, squeezing his thighs together.

"I-I won't, please, don't do this to me! I don't want it, I don't want it!"

"You do!" Mariku yelled at him, regretting that he showed how he felt. He wasn't supposed to get mad tonight… "You do," he said, more calmly this time, "you just don't know it yet."

"Y-You don't do something like this to someone you love! You said you loved me!" Malik looked up, horrified, almost like he actually believed in the words he was saying.

"Malik, when people love each other, they will eventually have sex. It isn't the only thing to a relationship, but it shows just how much they care for each other. I love you, Malik, and I want to show you this, more than anything."

"But that's when two people are in love! Mariku, I-I don't love you! This is rape!"

And his words stung. Deeply. Like nothing he had ever said before. Through all of his insults, back talk, and cursing, it had never really mattered, because Mariku told himself over and over that he loved him, truly, he did. But he said it in a way… that he was literally pleading for him to understand. Just how Mariku told him over and over that he loved him in hopes that he would finally understand, Malik was pleading with him that he did not want it. And Mariku wanted to cry. That his boy, his beautiful, beautiful Malik, who he had loved for so long, taken care of and worshiped, did not love him back. It was like everything that he had known was now false, and he wanted to die. But instead of becoming upset, he grew angry, unbelievably angry. And before he knew it, he found his hands around his Malik's neck, choking him.

He gasped, writhing and kicking and trying desperately to get him off, but his hands were restrained, and could not even defend himself properly. Tightening his hands around his neck, Mariku watched in sick satisfaction when Malik mouthed 'I'm sorry' over and over and over again, listening to the choking sounds he made. This was much more convenient. With hits and slaps and other physical punishment, it would hurt his pretty, pretty body. But this was better, it made the situation much more dangerous and real without maiming his skin.

Right before he felt he would pass out, Mariku let go, and Malik gulped air in desperately, gasping and sputtering still after his hands had left him. Letting him breathe on his own for a few moments, before reaching out and tenderly stroking his neck in apology. Malik turned to look at him, an expression of horror beyond human understanding, and he just looked at him, then. Mariku watched him back in return, and his eyes softened, drawing away for the last time.

"Do you still not know how much I love you?" Silence. "I'll show you, my Malik. I'll show you in a way I know you will understand." And Malik watched in muted terror as he took his limp penis into his hands, stroking it and kissing it and licking it and sucking on it until it became hard for the last time. 

Reaching to the bed side table, he picked up a small bottle and uncapped it, pouring the liquid onto his palm. And just as he had tried to relax him with lotion, he smoothed the lubricant all over his erection, making Malik look nervously at him through his fear, the smallest of moans escaping his lips at the feeling. Tossing the bottle away, Mariku moved over him, straddling his hips, and smiled.

"You're not the only virgin, my Malik. In some places, I'm a virgin as well. I'd give everything up for you, anything, _because I love you so much_." Without so much waiting for the shocked expression that his Malik gave later, he positioned himself over his erection and sunk down on it. 

It hurt. Horribly. This truly was his first time being taken in return, and he hadn't even so much as prepared himself. It was unbearable, overwhelming the pain was as he felt his Malik fill him, but it was _Malik._ This was his boy who was causing his pain, this was his boy who was inside him. And he loved it. He hung his head, panting heavily, finally making it down so that Malik was all the way inside of him, sitting on his hips somewhat. Positioning himself so that his weight was balanced equally on his calves and not Malik (he was taller and heavier than he was, and did not find the concept of sitting on him very appealing), he paused, trying to becoming achingly used to his Malik inside of him.

It took a while, but it finally became the smallest bit bearable, and he began to move, slowly at first. Placing his hands on Malik's chest, he leaned forward so that he could move his hips easier. He lifted himself up, moaning at the feeling, that wonderful, horrible, intoxicating feeling, and lowered himself back down slowly, rocking his hips down upon him to make it feel even more powerful. Still experimenting with the foreign situation, Mariku tried this a couple of times, moving his hips at different angles. And he felt everything.

Malik was absolutely still, not moving, not trying to get away, not even crying. It was like he wasn't even there, that far off look in his eyes, like he was… remembering something. And it made Mariku mad. He had gone through so much trouble to make this night perfect, and now here he was, ignoring him at the very climax of his love?

"Look at me." So Mariku grasped his chin, pausing for only a moment to turn his head towards him. "Watch me, my Malik. Watch me as I show you how much I love you." Malik stared dully up at him, but Mariku could tell he was focused, and smiled, leaning in to kiss him, dragging his tongue across his lips when he ended it. 

Becoming more familiar with the feeling of his Malik inside of him, Mariku moved easier, lifting himself up faster and coming back down harder, groaning. And then he felt it, that feeling that he had given Bakura so many times, and had giving his Malik tonight. The feeling of having his Malik's erection rub up against his prostate and sending him into a fit of ecstasy. He moaned, grinding his hips down so that he could feel it more, his hands moving to his own erection, stroking it. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, the pleasure his Malik gave him, and he gladly gave up everything he had for him. 

The pleasure overwhelming, he wanted more friction, and moved as such, lifting himself up only to bring himself back down sharply, going at an angle that hit his prostate every time, making him moan and groan in delight. But it wasn't fast enough, wasn't nearly as hard as he wanted, and tried desperately to move faster, but couldn't. 

"Move with me, my Malik," he said it breathily, panting between every few words.

Malik's eyes were closed, screwed shut, the tears having returned silently. He looked up at his words, eyelids lowered half way as he breathed heavily as well. Mariku waited for a reply, pausing again, Malik's length still inside him. Knowing that he had found a way to get Malik to comply, he removed his hands from his erection where they had been previously to rest gently on his neck. Malik looked up, once again terrified, and no words were needed to voice the threat.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you." Mariku said it softly, in the voice he used to persuade him in before kissing his nose. "When I move my hips down, move yours up. It's easy, just trust me. …You know what will happen if you don't." His last sentence was set as an afterthought, just a little reminder. Kissing him again, this time on the forehead, Mariku lifted his hips up, wondering if his Malik would comply as he told. Wasting no time, he brought himself back down, relishing in pleasure when Malik did as he was told and brought his own hips up to meet his. It was tentative, but Mariku would coax him into it. Stroking the skin near his navel, he moved up again before sinking down, waiting until Malik moved up to meet him, gasping as he hit his spot.

It was a game he was playing with him. Every time he would come back down, it would be just a little less, until his Malik met him equally with every thrust. His mind was warped with suffocating passion, and he moved the rhythm faster, finally getting the friction he wanted, and moved his hand in time with their bodies, jerking himself off. It was one of the most disappointing things in his life when he felt himself begin to reach orgasm, wanting the feeling of having his Malik moving with him to never end. But it was alluring, and he wanted to come, to make this absolute, finally making his Malik his forever. And he needed to hear it then, that he loved him, a need stronger than his want to come. Continuing the motion of his hips as he rocked down onto him, Mariku kissed his Malik all over, his chest, his stomach, his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, his lips…

"Tell me you love me." His voice was shaky, and he found it hard to concentrate on speaking through his pleasure.

Malik gave no reply.

"Tell me you love me Malik!" Hands moving on their own accord, all he had to do was squeeze and his boy would choke. Malik's new fear of being suffocated awakened and he searched desperately in his eyes for pity, finding none.

"I-I love you!" He said it loudly, trying to get him to hear so that he would be saved, and Mariku groaned at a particularly well angled thrust.

"Tell me again." His hands tightened the slightest bit.

"I love you…" He was so close now, he could feel the heat pooling in his stomach.

"Louder!" Desperately, a hand left his boy in favor of his erection, which he pumped without rhythm.

"I love you!" 

And he came then, all over his Malik's stomach, his eyes closed tight, saying his name over and over and over and over again. For the first time in his entire life, Mariku felt complete, a part of him that he had never had finally found as Malik came within him soon after. It was a feeling of absolute _being_, of nirvana, where nothing existed other than he and his boy, where everything was perfect and he had no worries, that the pleasure would never leave and they would be together forever and always. It was like he was devoid of all physical feeling, the only thing he comprehended being the white, searing hot wave of pleasure as it took him over. Faintly, he felt himself move off of his boy, laying down next to him and just being, breathing, in… and out. 

Too soon he felt the real world returning, the ache between his legs, and the sobbing he heard next to him. For those few minutes when he was still in the haze of orgasm, everything was okay. His Malik loved him and that was all he needed to know. But it quickly passed, and he sighed, rolling over onto his side. It was okay, though, because Malik was his now, forever and always. Maybe it would just… take a little more time. Reaching up, he untied Malik's wrists from the headboard, bringing his bound hands to him and untying them as well, kissing where the skin had chaffed his wrists to the point of raw bleeding. Malik was making up for the moments that he had been silent, continuing to sob even after he tried consoling him. But really, everything was okay. His Malik would be fine. He just didn't know it yet.

Bringing Malik to him, he hugged him, finding one of his hands and twining their fingers together, doing the same with their legs. He stroked his hair, petting him as he kissed his forehead. It did not make sense, so Mariku chose to ignore the way Malik continued to softly chant 'father' over and over again. The feeling of completeness returning, Mariku whispered his love to him until he ran out of words to say.

That night, it snowed one last time.


	12. Chapter 12

**…Sorry for the late update. I went to ye colonial hell -Williamsburg, Virginia- for spring break and planned to write on the car ride there until I remembered that I can't write for shit on paper. -insert sad smiley face here. …which should be a pun- So sorry for the late update, you can consider this my second crap!chap, for obvious reasons. **

**I really want/need help on writing transitions, since I can't seem to write them for the life of me. Help?**

--

Mariku sighed, holding his head in his hands and running his fingers through his hair, bored and anxious. It was a Friday, the weather having gotten temporarily better, and he didn't shiver while waiting for his Malik to leave school. He had the day off, and without work, he had little to do. The day was spent slowly, _achingly_ slow. When he wasn't working, he was watching his boy, and when he wasn't looking after Malik, he was working.

Bakura had left early that morning, saying he was going 'out', and so he was left to himself for the day. He had supposed that he could sleep in, but after a couple of hours, he got restless, and went downstairs, searching for something to do, finding nothing. Around eleven, he had left the house. Mariku had tried doing other things, but in the end, he wound up where he knew he would have eventually gone: to wait for Malik. It wasn't a very interesting thing to do, forced to wait on a bench near the school's front doors, but it had left him time to think and to, over all, relax. He had been stressed lately, partly from a fight he had gotten into with Bakura, and was tired from staying up late, so waiting for his Malik made him relax greatly. The only thing that would have been better was if his boy was sitting next to him. Malik would have shivered, and he would have wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close and kissed him. Mariku sighed outwardly, his hand twitching a little, and feeling more lonely than he had felt that morning.

But Mariku didn't have to wait long, and he moved from his open spot to stand near a building next to the school when students began to file out, slowly, at first. Through the crowd, he watched patiently for Malik. That morning, he had drove by his house, and noted with interest that he had kept his motorcycle at home, meaning that he had walked. The idea of following him home pleased him, and he exhaled softly when he spotted a flash of blonde hair and dark skin through the mass of teenagers.

His Malik was in a group of students as they talked before, one by one, they left. Shifting from foot to foot, Mariku watched as Malik said goodbye to them, waiting for him to start his trip home. One boy still lingering with his Malik, Mariku frowned when he didn't leave. They talked animatedly over something that must have been funny since Malik laughed often, and Mariku felt the familiar pang of jealousy. Anytime anyone else made his boy smile or laugh, he got jealous, insanely jealous. Who were they to be able to talk to him!? What had they done to deserve the pleasure of his company!? They had done nothing, they didn't deserve his Malik. But Mariku did. He should be the one to make him smile and to make him laugh, because Mariku loved him more than anybody else ever could. He loved him so much, so, so much, and he deserved the RIGHT to be able to look at him and talk to him, nobody else… Mariku shook his head to get rid of his thoughts to concentrate more on his boy and what he was doing. After all, he knew that some day they would be together, and they would be happy.

-

Mariku was surprised at first when, instead of taking a left outside the school front to start on his way home, he turned the opposite direction and started walking downtown. He was confused, since Malik hardly ever went anywhere besides his little corner of the city; his Malik was too impoverished. Downtown was for the wealthy and their expensive shops filled with overpriced items, not for his Malik, though the thought made him sad. His Malik deserved so much better, so much more than he had (or didn't have, in this case…), and so Mariku watched him happily as he walked leisurely down the sidewalk, taking his time. It was a good thing, to see him happy, and Mariku smiled a little to himself, Malik's good mood having an effect on him.

It was about three o 'clock, and the sidewalks were near empty, which made things complicated. Usually if he followed his boy out in public, he would try to stay near other people as cover, being as inconspicuous as possible. But now there was nobody, and Mariku resorted to walking a ways behind him, glad that he hadn't worn clunky shoes that day.

Days like these were nice. Nothing felt rushed, just slow and laid back, like all of his stress was gone and he could enjoy things without worrying. But his Malik usually did that to him. His Malik made him so happy that he could forget everything else in his life and just concentrate on loving him, and he did so gladly. It was warm, almost, too, and he hadn't even had to have taken a coat out, just a light jacket. His Malik was happy, Mariku felt ten times better than he had that morning, and he had the day off; what could be better? …It was a stupid question, he thought almost directly after asking it to himself. Of course things could be better. …His Malik could acknowledge him. But it was okay, it would be okay. Everything would just take time…

Mariku sighed, putting his hands into his pockets as he looked up at the sky, squinting from the light. Really, the day was nice. He shouldn't be complaining so much, because, of course, he _did_ have his Malik with him and that's the only thing he really needed to be happy. Making a mental note to be less pessimistic, Mariku sighed once again, returning to the task on his hands. His Malik looked so nice today with his hair up, something he rarely did, and it felt like Mariku was sharing something special with him. The thought made him very happy.

-

After about a half an hour of walking, Mariku was interested to notice how Malik seemed to become increasingly anxious. Every step he took was like walking his nerves up, though Mariku couldn't figure out why. Did it have something to do with the fact that they had finally reached the shopping area of the city? He frowned, wanting to take his Malik's hand and tell him to relax, that he shouldn't be so nervous, even if he didn't know what for, but he couldn't, so he was left to watch as he nervously fiddled with his sleeves as he walked. But it was true, they had finally reached the shopping district, and here, it was more populated. Mariku fit right in.

Malik walked faster now, like he was in a hurry to see everything as he passed shop after shop of things he did not want. What was the rush? Sometimes he would stop and pause to look in a window, but he hardly ever stayed and continued on his way down the sidewalk. He seemed to be looking for something in particular, and Mariku wondered what exactly he was doing here. In all honesty, Malik could not afford these stores. They were a luxury above his status in society, and Mariku didn't want him around them; they would make him depressed. But now Malik seemed genuinely happy again when he spotted a small little store across the street, and Mariku followed close behind him when they crossed the cross walk.

The store was small, and it would be easy to miss if someone was not looking solely for it. Squeezed in by two much bigger buildings, it looked cramped, without room to breathe, being smothered by the grey concrete surrounding it. Malik stopped in front of it, cupping his hands and looking in the window so that he could see better. This amused him, and Mariku smiled at his behavior, noticing how pretty his hair looked in the light. After a few seconds, Malik made up his mind and entered, a little bell ringing when he opened the door.

Not wanting Malik to know that he was following him, Mariku moved quickly to the door, catching it with his foot just in time. Opening it slowly to make sure the bell would not ring to alert him to the rest of the store, Mariku closed it quietly, looking around for his Malik. The store's lackluster appearance on the outside had been deceiving, the building much larger than he had expected, and, once again, Mariku wondered why Malik was here. What reason was there for Malik to be in a small boutique-ish jewelry store? He was acting so odd lately…

Moving to stand behind a display of handcrafted bracelets, Mariku pretended to study them, but looked for his Malik instead, finding him near the wall, looking at different expensive looking necklaces. He would lift one off the rack, taking them out of the glass box they were kept in one at a time to inspect them each carefully, and with such concentration that Mariku really started to wonder why they were here. There were a few he liked, and he held them gently in one hand. It seemed to go on for hours, his attentive shopping, and Mariku grew quickly bored, telling himself that 'it's for Malik, I'm doing this for Malik'.

He was a little upset when his Malik finally moved, realizing that he had let his mind wander, and watched in interest when he went to the front desk, placing two necklaces down at the cash register. Was Malik going to try and buy those? The thought was a little funny, but serious, still, all the same. Where did he have the money?

"Can you tell me how much these are, please?" Malik was always so polite, always, and Mariku wondered if it was because of his upbringing. His parents had done a good job; he was very well behaved. The lady behind the counter smiled as she took the first one forward, scanning it for it's bar code on the tag, and looked up at the cash register when it had beeped. When she told the price, his Malik made a small face, not unlike a wince, and asked her to scan the next one, which happened to be even more expensive than the first. "Isn't there a sale today?" Malik frowned, searching through his bag.

"I'm sorry, that was last weekend. You can try finding something else that you like." She said it kindly, but Mariku could tell that she was a little annoyed. Of course Malik could find something else, it didn't even need to have been said.

"Is there anything for a hundred? A necklace, I mean, one of those." And Malik gestured his head towards the wall where he had been standing before, having gotten a hundred dollar bill out of his bag. And then Mariku understood. It was his money! The money he had given him, his gifts, his love! The thought made him unbelievably happy, thinking that his Malik had acknowledged him, even if he didn't know who he was. His Malik loved him enough to take what he had given him, did he understand that he cared for him? But this was the first time that Malik had spent the money, and on a necklace? It had to be for his sister. His Malik was so…Mariku hadn't expected him to spend it on his family. He had hoped for his Malik to spend it on himself, buying things he deserved to have, but it was okay. If Malik was happy, he was fine, but was confused that he only had a hundred to spend. He had given him more, much more, so why only bring that one small piece of his presents?

"I don't think so, but you can look. What about a bracelet?"

"…" Malik paused, running it over in his mind before shaking his head. "No, I think I'll… go look some more."

Mariku watched as Malik moved back to where the rest of the necklaces were displayed, leaving where he stood carefully. His Malik had been very good to accept his gifts, and he deserved a reward. Reaching the counter, the worker had opened her mouth to say something ('is there anything I can help you with?' Mariku knew how it worked.), but he put a finger to his lips, and she closed her mouth, looking a little put off and confused. Having left his bag at the counter, Mariku easily slipped a bill into the front pocket where it peaked through a little; his Malik would not miss it. Mariku was satisfied, and giving a small smile to the woman, implying not to say anything, he left the store, the bell ringing on his way out.

He knew he had not been seen, and watched with interest from outside as his Malik returned to the counter, saying something that made his eyebrows furrow a little. Their voices were muted, so he had to guess as to what they were saying. Most likely, his Malik had said that he had found nothing less expensive, and was trying to bargain for a price. The cashier looked sympathetic, saying something in return which made his Malik sigh and look down. Mariku smiled when his eyes stayed down, rested on the bag, knowing that he had seen the money he had given him. Having expected a reaction much different, Mariku's smile fell when Malik spun around quickly, his eyes large, expression horrified. He did not understand why he would be scared of the thought that Mariku had been watching him, but chose to ignore it. Maybe it was something else that was wrong.

But as Malik looked wildly around for him, his benefactor, his hands gripped the counter edge, knuckles turning white as his voice rose so that Mariku could hear him. "Did you see them!? P-please tell me you saw them!" He could tell that he was trying to lower his voice, but couldn't as his voice shook, that horrified expression still on his face. The employee looked taken aback, and she seemed to battle with herself before shaking her head no, which made Mariku pleased. She wouldn't tell his secret. Malik's face dropped dramatically, the horrified expression leaving a little as his shoulders slumped, his posture becoming less tense. Not replying, the woman looked at him a while before asking what Mariku guessed was '…do you still want to buy one?'

His Malik froze, biting his lip, and looking around one last time, he nodded, taking the folded up bill out of the bag and handing it to her along with his old one. Mariku smiled.

--

It was so warm, so nice, and Malik didn't want to wake up that day. He had a test later that afternoon, and he had forgotten to study…would he take the bus or use his motorcycle? Gas was expensive now; he would ride the bus. Did he have enough money in his wallet? He would have to go ask Isis for money, but first he should take a shower. A shower sounded good, but then he would have to blow dry his hair, and that took such a long time… Something beside him moved. But…that wasn't right. That was-

…How had he forgotten? How in god's name had he forgotten!? It was… he had… n-no. This wasn't right. Mariku had just fallen asleep holding him, y-yes, that was it. Malik sighed shakily, holding back the feeling of wanting to scream and be sick, and clapped a hand over his mouth to calm himself. Letting his hand down after a while of concentrating on just breathing, he felt Mariku shift beside him. Turning, Malik looked at him.

It made him mad that he could look so at ease in sleep, that he seemed content. Mariku's happiness only came at his expense. But besides the change in conscious, Malik noticed a few other things about him, all of which made him, on some level, more nervous. Sleeping, Mariku's hair lost it's…volume, and the product that kept it up had lost its effect, leaving his hair limp, straight, as everyone else's. And asleep, Malik once again was reminded of how eerily similar they looked. When he was awake, Mariku's face was hard and resigned, menacing, even, which made his smiles seem so fake and disturbing. But looking at him now was like looking into a mirror, only a couple years older. Even though he noted all of them, Malik hardly cared about these things, only faintly realized them when Mariku shifted-because he could feel his skin. Every. Inch. Of his skin against his back and shoulders and legs and arms. One of Mariku's arms was looped around his middle, and when he moved, it drifted lower, his hand against his bare skin. He couldn't pretend, didn't think it was even possible to try and forget it, to persuade himself that nothing was wrong. Mariku had raped him.

And it was as if _accepting_ and _realizing_ what had happened made it more real, so, so much more real as Mariku made a soft noise behind him, tightening that arm around his waist. Shaking once again, Malik squeezed his eyes shut and leaned over, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the blankets, dry heaving. He wanted to be sick so he could rid his body from… f-from everything, the feeling, the knowledge, and the pit of horror resting in his insides, but the most he could manage were violent coughs as he tried desperately to control them, not wanting to wake his nightmare. But he couldn't handle it, couldn't deal with it, mentally or physically.

What had happened to him… it was… it had… he couldn't… Malik sobbed, fisting his hands into his hair and pulled, muffling the sound of his voice. He was so dirty, defiled, disgusting; Malik wanted to die. Mariku had touched him, _was_ touching him, and he had let himself be raped, didn't even fight back. He had been too scared to. Would Mariku have beaten him? Would he have killed him? Thinking back on it, any one of those things would have been better than what he had let happen to himself. How had he just laid there and taken those horrible, sickening touches? He had let himself be raped. _He_ had _let_ himself be raped. It was all his fault, all his. Would it happen again? Would he let himself be defiled and adulterated again? And it would be worse next time, he knew. Next time, Mariku wouldn't let him go without… actually… Malik didn't want to think about it.

But he had to. Taking one look back at his captor, he knew he would wake up soon, and then… he couldn't let that happen. Malik had to run away. There was a chance he would be caught, there was a chance that he could get lost, but he had to at least try. Anything would be better than finishing his thought of what would happen when Mariku awoke. He had thought about the idea from the very second he realized that he was in danger, that he had to get away. But he had hoped that Mariku would listen to him and realize what he was doing before something so terrible would happen that he would _need_ to run away. Malik had been so naïve. How could he have had hope in him? Was he that trusting to think that he would let him go? No… in the back of his mind, Malik had always known that he would be… raped… but he had been scared. He was scared of the idea that there was no escape, that even if he tried to leave, he wouldn't be able to, and it would make his fear of staying here forever real. But there was no time for fear now, Malik had to get away.

Malik's heart beat fast with adrenaline and the fear of being caught as he slowly, very slowly, lifted Mariku's arm away from him and slid gently out of his embrace. The sheets rustled with his movements, and he paused before finally getting to the edge of the bed where he moved his legs over the side. The floor felt hard under his feet and he shivered, slowly standing up, making as little noise as possible. He knew he had to hurry, that the more time he spent in the house was fewer time he had to get away. Taking his first cautious step forward, he was greatly relieved when the floor boards did not squeak or give away his presence. Clothes, he needed clothes. Malik searched the floor, feeling a little sick as he realized that he was looking for where Mariku had thrown his pants and shirt before he had raped him, but the only thing he found was his pair of dark red sweat pants and two torn pieces of his shirt. Having no other choice, Malik slid Mariku's shirt on silently over his head, hating the feeling of his rapists own clothes sliding against his body. Mariku had worn this shirt, his skin had touched it.

All that was left now was to cross the rest of the room, open the door, and _leave. _Malik gulped, trying to be as quiet as possible as he walked to the door way, pausing every couple of steps to look nervously back at Mariku, who, to his absolute relief, stayed asleep the entire time. A couple feet from the door, his feet kicked something on the ground, and it hit the wall, making him freeze in terror, his chest tightening up and that sick feeling returning to his mouth. Seconds ticked by so slowly as he stayed immobile, afraid that Mariku might hear the beating of his heart as it hammered in his ears. A minute, and his tormentor didn't do as much as move again in his sleep. Taking a quiet, shaky breath in to steady his erratic heart beat, he walked the last couple steps to the door, and grabbed the knob like a life line. …H-had Mariku locked it? Oh god, was he locked in!? Malik's chest tightened again in his silent panic at thinking of not being able to escape, and the thought of having to search his nightmare's pants to find the keys and the possibility of waking him in the process. Everything came down to this, his hope for escape, his freedom, and… his life. Malik gripped the knob, his knuckles turning white.

And it turned. The feeling was greater than anything he had ever felt before. This was it, he would really leave, h-he would go home… Once the door was open, Malik gave no look back as he stepped out into the hallway, his heart beating faster than ever as he stepped forward. He wanted to run, he wanted to run so badly, leave this place as soon as possible, but he could not chance Mariku waking to his footsteps. Agonizingly, Malik walked slowly, trailing his hand along the wall as he bit his lip. He could do this, he knew he could. But… how? He didn't know how far away the nearest town was, or even where they were. All he knew was that, at this point, he had to get away from Mariku as soon as possible; the rest would come later.

He could see the stairs now, and they taunted him. Malik was scared, wanting to run to those stairs and leave the house, as fast as possible, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't get caught. …Malik didn't know what he would do if Mariku caught him again, if he made him return to this house… It was so close, so close, he could see the rails and the steps as they led down a story, and he had to get there faster! He needed to leave, he had to leave! And Malik couldn't take it anymore, the need to survive and escape was greater than the realistic part of his mind. So he ran. Fast. His feet thudded against the ground as he finally reached the stairs, taking two at a time, almost falling, but caught himself before running down the rest. Desperately, Malik almost sobbed, adrenaline taking over his body as he reached the second story, trying to remember the way downstairs. Hallways stretched out like a network of mazes, although he knew that the house was smaller than he imagined, but finally found the last flight of stairs, too slow, for his taste. Then he was in the last hallway. He could see the kitchen, the dining room, the living room! His bare feet slipping a little on the tiled floor, he sprinted to the door, the one that he knew led outside and to his freedom. And, it too opened. Almost sobbing in relief, his good luck ran out then when he swung open the door to see the snow that was falling heavily, his breath catching in his throat.

Realization hit him hard in the face, just like a burst of cold air, and Malik wondered if it was figurative at all. Everything crumbled and died around him when he saw the snow coating the ground. Out of all the days, why had it snowed that night!? If he tried to escape now… he might freeze to death, or worse. Malik was trapped. Feeling desperation return, he knew he had to choose then. Either stay in this hell with Mariku and the touches he gave him, or gamble his life and leave. If he stayed, it would be horrible, but there might be another, more opportune time to escape. But if he left now… Malik would give up anything to get away from him as quickly as possible. He had to leave now. There was no chance that he would stay, no way in hell that he would give himself back to his nightmare. His mind made up, Malik quickly pulled on a pair of clunky boots that he found next to a small closet. Taking one last terrified look back into the living room, he turned and ran outside into the snow, slamming the door shut with every piece of strength he had left.

-

It was so c-cold. The snow was everywhere, in his eyes, on the ground, in his hair, and beating against his skin. Malik had been running for what he guessed to be half an hour, following a path that he had found that looked well traveled and what he thought was the road that connect the house to the main road, and he felt like he would collapse at any moment. It was absolutely freezing, a hell that he had never really physically faced, and now, more than ever, he wished to be back home, in Egypt with his sister and Rishid where it was warm and he was happy, without Mariku or his father. He had taken everything for granted… his life, his family, his home… and he wanted them back more than anything. He would fight for them, just as he was now, arms wrapped around his torso, teeth chattering as he ran for his freedom.

By now he was trudging along, focusing all of his thoughts onto the good memories of his childhood and life in America, trying not to feel the freezing temperature bite against his skin. In his desperation to escape, Malik had not looked for a coat to take, and felt the effect of it on him now, mentally kicking himself for his behavior. What good was it to try and save himself if he wound up freezing to death out in the snow and forest? At least he'd had the mind to find a pair of shoes… but Mariku's flimsy t-shirt was no shield against the harsh winds torturing his body. The cold was getting to be unbearable, more than it had before, and he knew he had to stop soon to rest. But there was nowhere to hide himself from the weather. The only thing he knew was the road, the snow, and the many pine trees as their branches blew in the wing. Something, there had to be something, anything to save him… And then Malik cried out in relief when he spotted a clump of trees, their trunks creating a sort of round fortress from the wind, low branches giving it something that would resemble a roof. Summing up some of the last bit of energy he had, Malik ran to the trees, eager to get out of the cold, but wound up doing an odd sort of jog, his boots being too big and clunky for him to easily run in.

Sinking to his knees in relief, Malik pushed himself as far back into the group of trees as possible, shielding himself from the biting wind. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and laid his head on top of his closed arms in an attempt to get warm.

What had he done? As a child, he could have never imagined the that these things would have happened to him. It was like he was living out someone else's life, not his own. It was all just so surreal… that he would be running away from a man who had kidnapped and claimed to love him after raping him, that he would be living in a completely different country, so different from his home. In the beginning, he had told himself that he was cursed, that he was being punished for something he had done earlier, and that Mariku was just the person chosen to deal out his hell. But he saw it as something else now, maybe through realization or that what had happened made him see things differently. Instead of playing the victim, Malik wondered to himself as he stared out into the bleak landscape. Maybe, this was his own test in life. Like fate was testing him; could he overcome his fear and survive? Or maybe it was his own fault, all of it. He was responsible for his actions, his behavior, and so was Mariku. Perhaps he had made it seem as though he was easy to be kidnapped, that he had come off as weak, and Mariku prayed on that when he stole him from his home. Had he been strong, hidden his depression, none of this would be happening now. But Mariku must have had his reason to take him in the first place, and for the first time since his capture, Malik wondered about his motives.

He had always seen Mariku as the villain to his fairy-tale, the one who had ruined everything, cruelly kidnapping him from his village and keeping him as a prize. A dragon, maybe, who dressed him in pretty clothes and jewelry, lavishing him with gifts and telling him that he loved him, before injuring him beyond repair. But Malik never thought of him much more than that, always his personality was one-dimensional, flat, without reason behind his actions other than to make his life a hell. It was an incredibly self-centered way to think, but Malik had used it as a sort of life-line. If he had wondered about him, about his life beyond interaction with himself… it would make things too real, and he couldn't pretend to just be the victim any longer. He could not pin point everything he had done just on Mariku himself. Thinking of Mariku as a real person scared him, because it meant that he had no hope of escape. No real, healthy person would do the things he had done to him. If Mariku was real, and had drugged, kidnapped, hurt, and raped him with the proclamation of 'love' following him the entire way… then he would stick behind that thought and would not give in. He would not say he loved him without a reason, and the thought that he would have one made Malik feel sick.

Who was Mariku? Who was he _really_? What was he like beyond being his tormentor? Malik didn't know, and Malik wasn't sure if he was really ready to know the answers, or even if he should. After all, he would never be seeing Mariku again… But still, the questions weighed heavily on his mind. He wondered who he was, where he had grown up, who his friends were or had been, and if he had always been so screwed up as he was now. Or maybe… Mariku was sane. The thought scared him, but Malik ignored it, knowing that he had to ask the questions to himself, that the only way to get over his fear was to face them head on. …If he was sane, then it made things much more complicated. Maybe his 'insanity' only reached as far as Malik himself, representing something of Mariku's own motives, his own life. Maybe the reason for his 'love' wasn't really Malik at all, but something he represented… The more Malik thought about this, the more he started to wonder about his life before kidnapping him. Perhaps he had been in a bad relationship, or had something taken away from him. Even, Bakura might play into it. Even if he hardly knew him, Malik knew that the relationship between him and Mariku went back far, as they seemed very at ease around each other. Well… maybe at ease wasn't the right word, but there seemed to be a sense of acknowledgement that went beyond a new relationship. And then there was the fact that they were lovers… or at least, Malik believed.

What was Bakura to Mariku? If Mariku already had someone, why did he need Malik? Shifting, Malik sighed, feeling his earlier depression start to come back. He shouldn't be thinking about these things, as they only reminded him of what he was supposed to be leaving. Asking questions that he did not have the answers to only furthered his confusion, and solved nothing. He should be concentrating on warming himself and finding the main road. In fact, he should probably try to walk some more… But it was so cold. Malik didn't know if he could make it.

Having turned his head to the side earlier, Malik closed his eyes, feeling his hair blow gently around him. It was so cold… why had he left? He should have stayed, even with the threat of Mariku and his touches. At least then he would be warm, and his stomach wouldn't feel so empty. …But how could he think that? He had just been raped, going back would mean giving up and accepting what had happened to him. The fact that Mariku had not actually penetrated him meant nothing, and he felt the hopeless feeling of depression take him over. Mariku had done something truly horrible to him, the most horrible thing he could ever imagine happening to himself, and he did it with the excuse of 'love'. How could he live with the knowledge that he had let it happen to himself, as well? It was too much… Malik couldn't take it. A fit of coughs took him over, and he faintly realized that he was getting sick, but chose to ignore it. He shouldn't have to think about it, he was supposed to be going home… Malik was supposed to be saved! But… in the back of his mind, Malik knew he couldn't make it to the main road. He didn't even know how far away, or if it even led to another road at all. Realizing his situation, Malik knew that he had two choices; either gamble his life in a chance that he could make it out of the forest, or turn back and return to hell.

It was a decision that Malik did not want to have to face. It was like choosing his life above the hope of freedom, and in the long run, giving it up as well. Being with Mariku was worse than death, but if he died out here, than he would never see his sister or Rishid again… Rubbing his hands up and down his arms, Malik leaned his weight onto his legs, trying to comfort himself. He had to choose now, or he would die. But how could he, how could he!? Malik whimpered, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn't do this… he just wanted to go home. Why was this happening to him!? He just wanted to go home! Choking, Malik felt the return of tears, and he shook his head to try and rid himself of them. No… he would not cry. He would not cry now, after he was so far along… He wouldn't give up. But how could he-

And then he heard it, the faint sound of wheels against gravel. A car. …A car! Malik's head shot up, straining his ears to check if he heard right, or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It would be a sick joke, that if he had imagined it. If there was a car, he would be saved! After a couple seconds, the sound did not go away, and Malik stood up shakily. He had to make it back to the road so that they could see him. His feet feeling like dead weights, he pushed himself to walk, the wind no longer feeling as cold as it had once been. It was difficult, the snow having risen while he had rested, but he finally made it to the road. And out of absolute relief and the realization that he would finally, _finally_ be going home, Malik started to cry when he saw a car come slowly into view, it's windshield wipers battling the snow against it's shield. He waved his arms, making sure they saw him, and cried harder when the car slowly came to a stop. There was no need to hold back his tears anymore. He deserved to cry. The biggest smile he could ever remember having on his face, Malik ran to the car, noticing faintly that, who ever would be his savior had lots of money, since the car was very luxurious looking. The wind cold against the tears on his face, Malik's heart dropped to his stomach when a tinted window rolled down, the driver leaning over so that he could see them clearly.

…_Bakura…_

_--_

**Cliffhanger. Drama for the effect. -but really, I'm just lazy-**

**It was my fifteenth birthday on April Fools day. -please refrain from jokes, believe me, I've heard them all- Review? I'd like crit, please. I'm very unsatisfied with this chapter, but for the sake for your sanity, I wanted to post it as soon as possible, regardless of content. Sorry.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry, bigfan, I tried to update in a week, but I don't think it's possible for my attention span. How's two weeks, instead? I don't have much to say about this **_**before**_** it begins. Oh! But I did change the summary. There's a chance that I might work the other warning into the fic, but that would only been in desperate measures. Sorry, no slavery. :c As I promised a friend, I'd like to recommend Cold Hard Facts by Funderful, since it is in need of some good lovin', and deserves so much more attention. Check it out, but in the meantime, relish in the Malik abuse.**

**--**

_He waved his arms, making sure they saw him, and cried harder when the car slowly came to a stop. There was no need to hold back his tears anymore. He deserved to cry. The biggest smile he could ever remember having on his face, Malik ran to the car, noticing faintly that, who ever would be his savior had lots of money. The wind cold against the tears on his face, Malik's heart dropped to his stomach when a tinted window rolled down, the driver leaning over so that he could see them clearly._

…_Bakura…_

-

Malik stared dumbfounded at the person now visible, frozen in horror. He… couldn't believe his luck. This had to have been a joke, right? Right!? Standing absolutely still, his tears stopped falling, and he only watched the white haired man stare up at him. His lips were parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but didn't have the words to explain anything he was feeling. The only thing he wanted to ask was… why? A million thoughts raced through his head, overwhelming him, and Malik finally moved, stumbling back a little. Would Bakura turn him in? Had he been caught? Would he kill him, hurt him? Terrified, he made a move to run away, only to stop at the sound of the other's voice.

"Don't you move. Get in." Hearing a click, the passenger door unlocked, and Bakura still wore his cold expression, never changing as Malik turned slowly around to look at him. "Now."

If he listened to him, he didn't know what would happen; he might even be killed. Bakura scared him badly, and he had good reason to be cautious. Then again… if he didn't listen to him, he might kill him as well. But… maybe Bakura would help him. He hated him, right? So if Malik ran away… he would never have to see him again. Gulping, Malik's body turned the rest of the way to face the car, little butterflies of anticipation starting to act up in his stomach. His mind screamed at him when he stepped forward, one foot at a time, a strange whooshing noise in his ears, heart beating faster. He had been caught, found out, thought that he would be saved, would Bakura kill him? Would he bring him back to Mariku? At the last thought, Malik froze again, eyes wide, his hands shaking. Would he… return him to hell? That one thought alone terrified him above all the others, and he stopped on his way to the car. Faintly, he could hear Bakura say something to him, but couldn't make it out beyond the terror that he felt suddenly.

"Jesus christ…" Bakura scowled, and Malik jumped when he heard a car door slam shut. Looking up, he made a horrified noise as he saw Bakura walking towards him, an angry expression on his face. Malik made a move to turn and run again, but his mind had not comprehended what was happening fast enough, and was wrenched backwards as Bakura grabbed his arm.

"I told you to get in the car." Bakura hissed at him, voice low as his hair blew wildly in the heavy wind and snow, the color of it blending in nicely. His grip was tight as Malik stared horrified at him, and his hand around his upper arm only held tighter when he did not move or reply. Without giving him time to fight back or even defend himself from the lesser of his demons, Malik was jerked forward, Bakura dragging him to the car. A desperate feeling rising up in his chest, Malik dug his feet into the ground and tried to shake his arm out of Bakura's death grip. He made up his mind. He didn't want to go with Bakura. He'd rather die out in the cold.

Seeming to get fed up with his retaliation, Bakura turned on him, glaring, and he wrenched his arm forward sharply, making Malik stumble. Malik gasped when he fell down into the snow, the clunky boots having made it hard for him to catch his feet. That still same feeling of desperation and terror welled up inside of him when Bakura's shadow loomed over him, blocking the sun from his eyes, and Malik only stared up at him, his fear not allowing him to think straight. Away, he had to get away. Yes, that was it. And so he made a clumsy attempt to crawl backward, feeling sick when Bakura followed him foot by foot, losing the distance between them.

Malik cried out when Bakura ended the sadistic game, being pulled up by the neck of his shirt and dragged back to the car, trying to kick his feet into the ground to get away, starting to hyperventilate. Malik couldn't think straight, all he knew was the fear of the person pulling him, and what would happen when they got to the car. In a last resort to escape, he tried to wriggle his way out of his shirt, but was stopped suddenly. His body was thrown down into the snow only momentarily, his head hitting the side of the car with a force that left him numb, leaving Bakura time to reach into his pants pocket and unlock the car with a little pad of buttons.

He could faintly hear the beeping noise the car made before he felt himself being hauled up and shoved into the vehicle, still dizzy from when he had hit his head. The terror was still there, but it was faint, the only thing he being able to feel was the numb sensation in his mind, and the slow regaining of his senses and nerve endings. It went by in a haze, Bakura slamming his door shut, locking it, getting in the car, and doing the same to his door. By the time his mind had fully recovered, Malik found himself sprawled out in the passenger seat, his forehead resting against the frosty window, limbs at an awkward angle as he moved to rub his head, the first thing that he had felt was the throbbing pain in his skull. But the feeling was quickly replaced by panic as he realized what had happened, and through fear and instinct, he made a rush to try and open the door. When it would not budge, he only became more frantic, jiggling the handle harder, trying to at least break it off if he could. Everything he was feeling rushed to him then, and he gave up, slumping back suddenly into the seat. He was so tired, tired of feeling fear as he realized what had happened to him, what could happen to him, and what… will happen to him. Malik gave up. He just wanted to go home.

"It's locked." Bakura's voice was cold, and he could see him faintly out of the corner of his eye. There was a rustling noise, but Malik ignored it in favor of trying to stare out of the window. If he wanted to survive at this point, he needed to forget everything. He needed to act as calm as possible. Panicking would not help him now, it would only make his situation worse, and at the very least, make Bakura mad. Forcing all of his thoughts from his head, Malik knew that right now, Bakura was his obstacle, and that he needed to worry about him instead of his fears of returning back to… Mariku. Taking a few shaky breaths in, he gripped the armrest to try and stop his shaking. Calm, calm. All he needed to worry about was not making Bakura angry(er?), and he needed to be calm to do that.

Agonizing minutes ticked by, time meaning nothing more than the continuing terror of suspense and from being so close to Bakura with no way out. Malik was starting to feel claustrophobic. His blood ran cold when Bakura finally spoke to him, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an automated response. He wanted it all to just go away…

"Why are you out here." Bakura did not ask questions, he demanded, and made a sort of growling noise when Malik did not reply. "I asked you something, and I expect you to reply! Mariku and me are not the same, and I won't take shit from you. Now answer my question!" Malik flinched from his sharp words, hugging his arms to his shoulders to try and feel more secure, gaining the courage to open his eyes and look over his shoulder at the man who had found him.

Bakura sat in his seat straight up, and he looked oddly tense, a strange expression on his face. Oh, he was mad, horribly, horribly mad, but there was something else there that he could not read, and Malik knew that he had to tread the water carefully as to not upset him. Thinking his words over in his head, he chose them carefully before opening his mouth.

"I…" maybe it was fear, but Malik found himself choking up, scared of what would happen if he told him… why he had run away.

"Spit it out!" Bakura yelled, and Malik flinched once again.

"I ran… away." He said it slowly, nervously watching Bakura's face with each word he said, waiting for a hint if he had made him mad.

Bakura scowled, moving to cross his arms and drum his fingers against his arms, making Malik feel suddenly jealous of his warm coat before remember that he was no longer out in the horrible, horrible cold. His expression only changed slightly, become less tense and more annoyed.

"No shit. Why else would you be out here? Mariku wouldn't just let you leave. Alive, anyway." And he smiled darkly then, as if there was something deeper in his words, and Malik gulped.

Nervously, Malik fidgeted when Bakura said no more but turned his head to stare out the window, his eyes narrowed. What was he doing here? If Bakura was so eager to get him into the car, why was he not saying anything now? He had at least expected to be hit, but this stretching silence was confusing and different. Bakura hated him, he knew that, but for what reason he could not figure out. But… so then… shouldn't he be yelling, screaming, beating him, in the least? They were all alone, no one would ever find out. The thought scared him, and Malik shivered. Seeming to have noticed his movements, Bakura turned his head back to him, his white blonde hair moving over his shoulder.

"I should leave you out here." The tone of his voice had switched from angry to low and dark, making Malik's blood run cold in fear. "How long do you think it would take for you to die? Slowly, I know. Hours? Days? And I could watch you, too, from inside the car as you suffered outside, banging on the window, begging for me to let you back in. But I wouldn't, you know. I hate you so much. Wouldn't that be a fitting way for you to die? No longer coddled and comforted, you'd actually have to fight for yourself. I could drive you far away into the woods and just leave you there, without Mariku to save you. God…" Bakura grinned darkly, his voice trailing off as he lifted a leg up onto the dashboard, the other bent as his fingers suddenly stopped drumming on his arms.

Should Malik have been scared? Were Bakura's words supposed to make him beg to be saved, to be spared? They were morbid, and terrifying in their own sense, and Malik was scared of death, he always had been. The thought of what happened afterwards… did life just repeat itself for eternity? Or did it just suddenly stop, everything halting, suspended in animation after his death? Was his reality, his hell, only a fabricated illusion? Having nothing after death, everything ending… or having life repeat itself forever, without an end… it was terrifying. Death had always scared him, but oddly, the thought of death now didn't seem as horrible as it always had been before. What scared him more was the thought of continuing his torture, to be returned to Mariku's love, and to never leave. His physical and mental terror was real and concrete, it was here, it was NOW. It was what he knew, the pain, but death gave him a sense of security. With death, he would no longer have to live with what his life had become, what he had let it become… But he could not die. More than anything, Malik had to return home. Feeling what could be faintly described as confidence, he turned to face Bakura head on, who only looked amused at him.

"Fight for myself? What do you think I'm doing!?" It definantly wasn't smart to speak to him, to show his anger, but all of his emotions, anger, fear, sadness... it was too much to handle, and so Malik snapped. "You have no idea what I've been through. Every day I fight for myself. And you just sit back and watch, don't you, when he hurts me. You hate me, and you love it. If you hate me as much as you say, then do it! Let me die!"

If it had happened earlier, Malik would have been proud of himself, the way that he had not backed down, not given in to Bakura's probing and threats. But now he regretted it instantly, knowing full well that what he had said may have jeopardized his life, but... it was true. There were worse things than death, and Malik needed to be strong, just this once. He needed to remind himself that he was still Malik, that he hadn't changed. He still spoke back, he still acted careless, he still could fight anyone who challenged him. Or at least... remind himself that he had never lost those things since then, when his father took them from him... But he hadn't lost them, right? Malik was still the same person...

"Who do you think you are?" The reply was perfectly expected, but Malik still flinched once again when Bakura spat at him, glaring. "Just who the hell do you think you are!? Do you think that you can talk like that to me, huh, pretty boy?! Talk like that to me again, and I'll fuck you up so bad that you won't ever want to live again!"

"A little too late, huh? How many times have you said that, and you still haven't done it!" He might have lost the way he had been so brash and outspoken as a child, but at least he was still just as careless. Malik would truly get himself killed.

But his words had worked, taken a negative effect as Bakura suddenly lunged at him, and Malik's confidence left instantaneously when he was shoved back into the seat, something cold and blunt shoved underneath his chin. Bakura pinned him down, his eyes wild as he punched him in the stomach, making Malik gasp and flinch, trying to bring his arms up to protect his head, only to have them wrenched away. "Do you think my threats are empty?" Bakura's face was centimeters from his as he hissed at him, and Malik was reminded just how brutal and terrifying he was. How had he forgotten? "Do you want to test them and find out?" That same dark grin, and Bakura jabbed the gun upwards against his throat, making Malik gulp and freeze up, eyes wide, heart pounding erratically. He thought that he was being strong in the face of danger and death. Malik was wrong. Malik was scared to die.

When Malik did not reply and only continued to stare terrified down at the gun and it's owner, Bakura's expression changed, and he stroked the gun down his neck, making Malik shiver. The feeling of it was only a fraction less disgusting and horrifying than skin, and he gulped once again when the tip of it trailed along his neck bone and underneath the collar of his shirt. Malik squeezed his eyes shut, and to his relief, Bakura moved away, only after laughing and rubbing his skin one last time with the barrel.

"It seems I must have gotten ahead of myself..." When Bakura moved away from him and back into his own seat, Malik let go of a rush of his breath, and coughed as he massaged his neck, shuddering in repulsion and fear. "I'm not going to kill you." With that, Malik looked warily over at him, fearful of his words and what they meant. Was he mocking him, was he joking, or was he being truthful? Malik really and truly did not know him. Would Bakura lie for his own gain and reasons? It seemed very likely... "But I'm not going to tell you to 'don't worry, I'm not going to kill you'. Please, keep worrying, as you should. Just because I won't kill you doesn't mean that I won't hurt you." Bakura turned to look at him, and expecting his ever present angry face, Malik was surprised when he was met with a somewhat neutral look, admittedly, still a little twisted in anger.

"What do you want with me..." He said it despairingly, becoming tired with the emotions conflicting him, the constant fear. This was torture, having to defend himself from Bakura, even though he knew that it most likely didn't matter what he did or said, and that Bakura would probably hurt him in the end anyway.

"Really, I want you dead." Saying it with that neutral expression, Bakura stared at him as he struggled with fear and confusion. "You talk about me not knowing what's happening, but really, you're the one who doesn't know. You don't know anything of what you've done. God_damn_ I want you dead!" Punching the side of the door, Bakura's hair fell into his face, covering his expression, but Malik could see through the pieces of hair that did not cover that he was grimacing. Angry, always angry, and he did not like being around someone so volatile and dangerous. But 'like' wasn't the right word. Malik learned that he didn't have a choice in what he 'liked' and what he didn't like, that the only way to survive and to live life was to face and deal with unwanted things. Although... Bakura was far from 'unwanted' and bordered on the line of 'unstable' and a threat to his life. Of course he didn't 'like' being around him, who would? He was terrified of him. "But you know what?" His voice was considerably softer, this time, though just as angry, and Malik was once again confused at his changing personalities. "I can't have you die. It would make him so..." 'Him'? Mariku? Malik sat quietly, not daring to voice his confusion, or anything, even. "What do I want with you? I want you gone, and I think I've just found the perfect opportunity."

Bakura looked at him again, and Malik's eyes flickered down to the gun resting in his hands, feeling nervous when Bakura fiddled with it. What Bakura had said... it made him angry. Surely his situation, what Mariku had done to him, was worse than anything he might have possibly done to Bakura. The idea that it wasn't was just... it made him mad. He had been put through such terror, hell, forced to face the physical embodiment of every fear he had had since his childhood, and Bakura said that what HE had done was worse? Malik grit his teeth together, forcefully reminding himself to stay calm. He couldn't make Bakura any angrier.

Involved with trying to control his anger, Malik wasn't listening as Bakura had begun to speak again, and half heartedly listened when he heard him speak again. "-don't think that would happen, but if it did, I'd take it." A serious look directed his way followed with a glare, and Malik almost regretted not hearing what he had said. Had he made him mad again? "But that's not true, and you're here, and Mariku's at home." Bakura paused, thinking about his next words carefully, and what he said next made Malik's heart stop and his eyes widen. "I'm taking you to the bus station."

It took him a long time to finally respond to what he had said, running the words over and over and over and over again in his head to reassure himself that he had not hallucinated what he had said. He couldn't-…! Did he…!? Was he serious!? Was his luck turning, finally, finally!? Maybe he HAD made the right choice leaving, that he would finally go home, that he would be saved. The idea was too much for him to handle, and Malik sobbed in relief, bringing his hands to his face as his shoulders wracked with silent tremors. There was never a time in his life that he had been so grateful, so happy, and the emotional rollercoaster he was on felt as if it had finally stopped. Permanently. He would be saved.

But from the time spent with Mariku, Malik had grown wary, smarter, and less naive about the things that people said, and what they actually meant. He learned that what was said did not make it true, and that he had been hurt many times because of this. He could not let himself fall into the trap of Bakura's deceiving words, no matter how much he wanted to. He was only setting himself up for disappointment and depression. Taking another deep breath in to calm himself, Malik forced the happiness out of his mind, and mourned its loss when it left. It had been so long since he had felt anything other than fear and sadness... Malik was reminded of the time that he had watched salvation come and go in front of his eyes, the movers... and how betrayed he had felt, and... Mariku's touches afterwards.

"Y-you won't. I know you won't do it..." Even that short period of time that he thought that he had been saved... to feel the realization of life coming back was horrible. That horrible, sinking feeling in his gut when he remembered that he wouldn't be saved. Bakura would not save him. There was no other thing than that. Bakura said he wanted to hurt him, and he had. It hurt, for him to say that he would save him, lift him up so high, only to have the better part of his mind drag him back down to the pits of hell and his terror. But... there was still a small part of him that hoped with every part of his body that Bakura was sincere, and that this time, this one time, he was not trying to hurt him. Malik laughed bitterly inward. 'Bakura' and 'sincere' were two completely different things.

Bakura scoffed, looking incredibly annoyed, and Malik shrunk back, intimidated by his expression, and disgusted by his fearful behavior. Strong. Malik had to be strong-, no, Malik _was_ strong. "Look, I'm taking you back. If you don't believe me, fine, there's nothing I can do about it. If you still don't believe me after I start driving, than I'll take you out of the car and shoot you in the woods. I'm not wasting gas on you. Put your seatbelt on." Bakura hissed the order at him, and Malik was confronted with another decision, the back of his mind confused by Bakura's contradicting words. He hated him, would feel no guilt in killing him, but wanted him to put on his seat belt? Malik almost laughed... Malik couldn't laugh anymore. But, no. Bakura could be lying, could still be lying, even after what he had said. But if he was telling the truth, Malik would be saved, finally, finally saved, and would get to see his family again. One or the other. Salvation or depression and death. Malik reached over for the seatbelt.

Looking pleased, Bakura reached into his pocket, digging for his keys as Malik watched him. Bakura was very... odd. All pale skin and light hair, but his looks were deceiving, and his expression was cold and hard. His clothes were sloppy, and he did not dress well as... Mariku did, only seemed to just throw on a shirt and a pair of pants. He had an accent, British?, and yet... there was nothing about him apart from the way his voice sounded that distinguished him from the people who he had known at school, the ones who tormented him for their amusement. It was as if Bakura had no true identity, everything about him was mismatched and stolen from other people and cultures. The way he dressed, the way he talked, the way he would give out threats of death so easily, and the way that he was, in almost every sense, the person who had denied him freedom and had sent him to hell in the first place. Bakura had been there from the very beginning when Malik had found himself in that dark room, tied up when he saw Mariku for the first time. Just how Mariku had taken everything from him, Bakura had helped, being in the background the entire time...

"What do you want?" Softly, Malik spoke as the car came to life, feeling it hum underneath him, the vibrations of the engine making his body shiver with the sensation, as if it knew self-consciously that 'this is a car' that 'this is technology' that 'this is the outside world' that...'this is what will save us'. Glancing over at him, Bakura scowled once again, a little more angrier looking this time.

"I already answered your fucking question. I'm taking you home so I never have to hear from you again, so keep quiet. The less that I have to be reminded of you the better." Turning away, Malik rested his head against the window, knowing that the man had no deeper meaning to his words.

From the inside, the forest was beautiful as the snow crunched underneath the wheels of the car. The snow had stopped falling now, and everything looked so silent, undisturbed. The idea that everything that had happened to him, the touches, rape... had happened out here was so-... that Mariku's house was only a couple of miles away... He was finally leaving. Turning his head away from Bakura as much as possible, Malik felt himself begin to cry, letting the tears spill from his eyes as he watched the trees go by. He had done it, he had survived, but not without a cost. Last night, the terror, Mariku's mouth, his skin, the way he has touched him... it all came back, it was real. He remembered everything, the way that he had brought him to orgasm, suffocated him, the hands around his neck, and the way that Mariku had manipulated his body. All the days that he had spent there, the terror as he begged to be freed, and the battle with himself not to give in to depression. And... how he had been reminded of his childhood. Every touch had brought him back, and he was forced to face the memories that lingered far after his father's death. His father had hurt him, taken so many things from him, but so had Mariku. But now, his demons were finally conquered. Mariku was gone, forever, and he had won. He would never have to face love again.

Coming to acceptance with this, Malik didn't hold in the sob as he cried harder, bring his hands to his face once again. It was as if he was giving it all up, letting go of what had happened, moving forward with his life as he cried for what had been done to him, and the knowledge that it was finally all over. He had to let it go, and this was his way as the tears poured out his eyes, knowing that this would be the last time that he would ever let himself cry. Bakura said nothing to him as he sobbed into his hands, every part of his body focused on the emotions. Malik had done it. Malik had won.

Eventually, his tears had stopped, and Malik felt the exhaustion that followed. He was so tired... but he would not let himself sleep. No, Malik wanted to live every bit, feel the realization that he was returning home as he stared out the window, forehead still leaned against the cold glass. He had not spoken to Bakura since the car had started moving, and the silence was welcome, loving the feeling of being able to just sit and _be_. Thinking of what he was returning to, Malik was surprised when he felt himself not being able to smile. What was wrong with him? He would be going home, why couldn't he just give in? He could finally be happy, now, he wouldn't be betrayed or tricked. It was final. He was going home. But there was still something there, deep inside of him that told him to be careful, to be cautious. Malik crushed it down. He deserved the right to not be scared.

Without fear, and the constant worry that Bakura would hurt him, Malik was free to study the car's interior, and felt a small pang of jealousy when he noticed just _how_ nice it was. Malik had saved a long time to finally get his motorcycle, and when he finally was able to buy it, he could only ride it rarely, since the price of gas mounted over what he could afford. But this… Malik turned his head slightly so that he could see Bakura through the corner of his eyes. Did Bakura have a job, or did Mariku buy him the car? He'd forgotten how Mariku had gotten his money, but it was obvious that he was wealthy. Was it a gift, or did Bakura pay for it himself? Malik made a small noise in the back of his throat, flicking his eyes back to the window as he noticed that the trees were becoming scarcer. Why did he care? It really didn't matter… all he should be thinking about now was his family.

He didn't know what their reactions would be, but he could guess. They had no idea why he had been kidnapped, it would have been so sudden… He just wouldn't have showed up that day, and even Malik now still didn't know the whole truth to why he had been stolen. Isis… he knew she would have been distraught, but that was only to be expected. Rishid, he… would have taken it harder. They had been fighting for a long time, and it had only gotten worse the last couple of months before he had been kidnapped. The morning that it had happened- Malik gulped, feeling guilty as he closed his eyes. He had been so horrible to him, and Rishid had probably blamed himself for his disappearance. Malik wasn't being self-centered, but he knew the way that Rishid cared about him, the way that he always tried to hide him from things, to save him, but it had begun to smother him, and he had gotten fed up with it. Letting go of a sigh, Malik's stomach churned at a fleeting thought of someone else that he would be seeing again, only in a different way.

For the first time since his hell began, Malik thought of his stalker. Just the thought of him… Malik rubbed his arms, unwanted feelings starting to make their way through his body. How had he forgotten about them? If it was only one thing that he knew… they would be horribly angry, at the very least. It had been so long since he had first felt the feeling of it, of being watched, and they had followed him persistently. How long had he stayed with Mariku, a month? When he came back… they would probably become hysterical. But hysterical wasn't the right word. Violent was.

It had started, in a sense, almost innocently. Every once in a while, he would be out, getting groceries, or whatever little chore he had to do that day, and he would feel something, just an inkling that he was being followed. Of course, he had been nervous, put off, but it hadn't really affected him drastically. Only when the money had started coming did he begin to feel scared. Because with the money, came his stalker believing that he was theirs. It had only gotten worse from there, and the closest way that he could describe the terror he had felt when he saw the dead body of the racist boy on his apartment's footsteps, was the terror he felt when Mariku had raped him. They had grown increasingly violent, and Malik had begun to dread every time he went out of the house. And that one time that he had forgotten, left to go see a movie with Joshua… it had been his fault. If he had not have left, he wouldn't have been killed. It was his fault, his fault, and his stalker had killed him for kissing him, because, of course, he was _theirs._ Letters had made their way to him, filled with money, accompanying gifts, and there had been talk of meeting. Malik had been petrified, not knowing what to do, what would happen if he refused. But it all had been erased from his mind when he had been kidnapped. It was as if everything had been put on standstill, Mariku being his new terror and the source of his fear.

Once he got over one demon, another one returned… Malik had forgotten about his stalker. Mariku was over, done with, but… was he the worse of his two enemies? Mariku or his stalker… Mariku had hurt him in a way that his stalker could not, could never do, but his stalker had hurt his family, his friends, and him in a non-direct way as a result. With Mariku, it had been rape, with his stalker, it had been the terror of the unknown and murder because of him. But Mariku was over and done with, his stalker was not, and there was no telling what he would do when he returned. Which was he more scared of?

Everything… it was too much. Malik let go of a shaky sigh, and he felt Bakura turn to look at him. But he had to go home, needed to go home. He could confront his stalker and be strong, and if worst came to worst, he could move. It would only be a couple of years until he could leave his sister and live his own life, and after that, he would never hear from his follower again. But the only way he could run from Mariku was through this, through now. Mariku was worse, so, so much worse. Touch was more terrifying than letters and words could ever be.

As they continued to drive, Malik was a little surprised when he glanced at the clock, noticing that the trip hadn't been as long as he thought it had, twenty minutes, at the most. Was the house really that far out of the way from the rest of the world? But Bakura had taken lots of different little paths, had he been making the trip longer on purpose? Turning to ask something, Bakura cut him off suddenly, and Malik was taken aback.

"Why did you leave."

Hadn't he already answered that question?

"I told you, I had to. I couldn't just stay there…" Malik looked warily over at Bakura who stared at the road in front of him, his hard expression unmoving.

"Don't be smart with me, I won't fucking tolerate it. Why did you leave _now." _Malik bit his lip, not liking where the direction of the conversation was turning. Bakura was starting to become more and more angry and… suspicious, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

"I-I was scared…-"

"Don't you fucking give me that! Tell me _why!?_" Bakura turned to scream at him, and Malik's eyes widened, scrunching back into the corner of where his seat met the door. Why was he suddenly acting so… like his true self? What had Malik done, what had he said!? He was left with nothing other than telling the truth. He had to appease him, give him what he wanted, even if it hurt Malik to admit it.

"He… raped me last night."

Malik was left no time to shield himself from whatever reaction Bakura may have had before he was suddenly jerked forward. Bakura slammed on the brakes only in time to lunge at him, wrenching his arms away from his head as he hit him. There was nothing else in Malik's world then other than Bakura's punches to his stomach and to his face. He could hear Bakura screaming at him as he punched him hysterically, his eyes wild. Trapped between the seat and the door, his source of escape, Malik was forced to endure the abuse, and he knew everything had begun to crumble. He had said the wrong thing _then_. Had Bakura guessed the reason that he had left? Was that why he had became so angry so suddenly? But he didn't think much about these things, as the only thing he concentrated on was trying to get away from him, and worrying about his life, knowing that Bakura had a gun.

Just as suddenly as it came, Bakura stopped. Everything stopped then, all of his punches gone. Malik ached all over, everything hurt. Bakura was strong, and there was force behind his attack on him. Doubling over, Malik gasped for breath, knowing that he would have bruises, and tensed up when he felt a hand on the back of his neck, and the lips next to his ear.

"Little Malik… are you lying to me? Did you lie on purpose to make me mad?" He could feel his breath as he spoke, and Malik squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't good, no, this was terrible, horrible, what had he done!? What would he do to him, what should he say!? But Bakura didn't wait for him to reply, only tightened his hand around his neck further and growled, Malik feeling his body next to his, so close, touching him… "I was going to help you, Malik, I would have saved you, but you continue to lie to me, and…" he could feel him grin, baring his teeth. "I don't think you deserve it. I'm taking you back."

It was too much, too, too much, and Malik screamed, his vision blurry. He grabbed the hand at the back of his neck and continued to yell, not having any other way to deal with what he was feeling. Hell, absolute hell was what he was feeling, desperation and terror all mixed in together as Bakura laughed over him as he sobbed, screaming, yelling, pleading. And he cried, too, again. Always he cried, because it was too much. He felt the emotional rollercoaster he had been riding start up again, shaky at first, but the more time went by, the more hysterical he became, and the higher it went to the top. Did he always have to set himself up for disappointment? Why did he do this to himself? But… Bakura had meant to take him home, he was going to let him go, why, why now?! It was Mariku. Mariku was doing this to him, it was always him, always! Mariku had been the one to kidnap him, Mariku had been the one to destroy his life, Mariku had been the one to rape him, and Mariku's influence had been the one who would not let him leave.

"L-lying!? Lying!? I'm not lying, why, why would I lie!?" This was horrible, completely surreal. Why would he _lie,_ above all else.? H-he had to make Bakura listen to him. His life rested on it. "I'm not lying, I'm not lying! You think I'm lying!? Why would I lie about what he did!? He raped me, he raped me!" Malik screamed hysterically, shaking his head from side to side. Desperation was his world as he tried to make Bakura understand, to move his view set in stone.

"_Shut up! _I'm sick of your excuses! You're a fucking liar!"

"N-no, Bakura, Bakura, I'm not! I'm not lying, I wouldn't lie! How could you think I am!? Please, please listen to me!" He felt the desperation surround him, as if riding the air current as it wrapped around him and his mind, leaving him cold, a dark pit in his stomach, eating away at his insides.

"Why are you lying?" Bakura hissed menacingly underneath his breath, but loud enough so that Malik could hear through his hysteria. "Because Mariku loves _me."_ And Malik understood. He understood everything then, his hatred for him. Jealousy. Jealousy was it's cause, as if Malik wanted _any_ of Mariku's attention… And this was it. He knew he would not give in. Bakura was steadfast in what he thought. Mariku would not _love_ another.

"B-Bakura, Bakura, please, please let me go home, p-please, _please!" _If he had to resort to begging, then so be it. Anything was better than what he said he would do, anything. Defending himself against accusation would not work, and this was all he had left. Malik found it hard to speak through his anguish and it's physical effects, his tears making everything blurry, hard to see.

"If you… liar… I would have… I won't take you home!" He couldn't hear through the sobs that he couldn't hold back, but what he did only made him cry harder, no longer even pretending to feel disgusted at himself for his weakness. Bakura's words hurt, his words a life line as he struggled to cling on to it, his words being what would lead him to the top of the pit of despair he was in, his home.

"Stop it, no, no! Bakura, please stop it, let me go home, let me go _hooome!_" When Bakura moved to draw away from him, Malik moaned, throwing himself at him, clinging to his shirt. Was this how pathetic he was, was this what he had been reduced to? "Please, Bakura, s-save me, don't take me back there, don't do it, please, please!" Burying his face into his shirt, Malik felt his tears seep onto the fabric, his whole body shaking. Terror, this was terror, true terror, knowing everything that would happen to him when he would s-see Mariku again. "YOU SAID YOU WOULD TAKE ME HOME! BAKURA, BAKURA! PLEASE, BAKURA, I'M NOT LYING!" He knew that this was the person who wanted him dead, who he shouldn't even be surprised that he had lied to him, but he was his only hope. It wasn't Bakura's words that were his life line, it was him, and he tried desperately to hold onto him. Bakura was physical, and if he let go, he would fall back into that pit, that horrible pit where Mariku was waiting to catch him.

"BAKURA, BAKURA, DON'T, PLEASE B-BAKURA, I-" But Malik was cut off suddenly, something cold, hard, and achingly familiar pressed up underneath his chin.

"You know what they say about liars…" Bakura glared at him, manically grinning as he watched his tears stop and his face grow horrified. "They always get what they deserve in the end." Wrenching his shirt from his hands and shoving him back into his seat, Malik felt the rope break, that rope that he had been holding onto, Bakura who he had been holding onto, as he physically felt himself fall down, down into hell. Feeling the gun press against his temple and the click that followed, Malik closed his eyes, knowing that it was all over.

"You touch me, and I'll pull the trigger. I don't care if you live or die, even more now."

"Then just kill me." Death had to be better. Anything had to be better than this.

"You want death?" Bakura tutted, that crazed expression still on his face. "I won't reward you, then. Touch me, and I'll do something worse than just shoot you."

"You can't, you can't do anything worse…" Malik moaned, bringing his hands to his face as he rocked himself back and forth. This was unbelievable, he couldn't believe this, couldn't cope with this. It was just too much. He whimpered when he felt Bakura take his wrists away from his face, looking despairingly at him and wondering why he was touching him after what he had just said.

"I know what you're scared of, I know how to fuck you up. I can do _exactly what_ you lied about. I can rape you. Over. And over. Would that be worse, Malik?" His voice was low, and Malik's eyes widened as he stared back at him, frozen momentarily by his words. But it was short lived, and Malik jerked away suddenly, beginning to hypervenilate. He was trapped. Smirking, Bakura pulled away, glancing over at him and smiling sadistically at the battle that was raging inside his mind.

If he had made it home… he would have been tormented by his stalker. When he was returned to Mariku… he would be touched and _loved,_ and if he tried to save himself… Bakura would rape him. Everything, everybody was against him, trying to drag him down. And when Bakura started the car back up, Malik couldn't cry anymore, he just choked up and began to hypervenilate once again.

"P-please, please, please, Bakura, don't do this, don't do this to me…" It was useless, absolutely useless, and Malik let his head fall back onto the head rest when he didn't reply, only laughed cruelly. Closing his eyes, Malik gave up, he just gave up. There was no point, no point at all. He would always be in hell, and always had been. Nothing had ever gone right in his life, ever since he was born. Was that it, was he being punished for killing his mother? It was all his fault… Everything was his fault. If he hadn't killed his mother, his father wouldn't have became so… If he hadn't killed his mother, his father would have been a different man, and they would have never had to move, and he would have never been stalked, and he would have never met Mariku. It all led back to him, everything. It was his fault, everything, all of it.

And Malik had been right when he had thought that Bakura had taken his time when he had said that he was taking him home. The ride back to his hell only took five minutes, and with every foot closer, he felt himself becoming sicker and sicker. And once the woods cleared and the road became blacktop… Malik became hysterical, able to finally see the outside of the house, all three stories complete. Breathing erratic, he pulled his hair when the car slowed down to a stop, Bakura pressing on the breaks, everything becoming still.

"Get out."

Malik sobbed, eyes wide as he tightened the hold on his hair and screamed mutedly. This was it, they were here, everything was over now, everything, everything, EVERYTHING! He hadn't thought that his terror could have gotten greater, but he felt it mount higher and higher, his stomach churning when he heard the door unlock. A building sickness was forming in his gut, and he could do nothing to help himself when Bakura opened the door and stepped out of the card, swinging his open and wrenching him out. Thrown to the ground, knees and hands in the snow, Malik felt that pit of dread in his stomach reach it's climax. Pressure at the bottom of his chin, Malik coughed and threw up, doubling over, arms around his middle. His body spasmed, but the terror and fear had not all left, and he retched again, feeling some of the sickness leave him, but the majority of it stayed.

His mouth felt disgusting, and Malik coughed again, couldn't stop himself, feeling so disgusting, petrified, he… he didn't know what he felt anymore. Desperation was what he felt when Bakura grabbed his upper arm and hauled him up, making him forcibly stand. In a last attempt to escape, Malik tried to run, but his emotions and sickness only let him jerk out of his grasp, and fall back onto the ground. His arms shaking as he struggled to lift himself up, Malik sobbed when Bakura placed his foot on his back and shoved him back down, his face making contact with the snow.

"You're so fucking pathetic. Get up, liar!" Bakura growled, grinding the sole of his shoe into his back, making Malik scream and struggle once again to get away. Lifting his foot off of him, Bakura became fed up with his attempts to escape, and pulled him up again, starting to drag him up the steps to the house.

He was so tired, so tired, and so scared. The house brought back everything, the worst part of his life, and unbelievable terror. Trying desperately to get out of Bakura's grasp as he was hauled forward, he beat his arms and kicked his heels into the ground, but he had no energy left, and his attempts were easily crushed. When Bakura finally made it up to the front door, Malik felt the need to be sick again, and the feeling only increased when the door was opened. It wasn't figurative anymore as he was flung into his hell, Bakura dropping him to the floor and locking the door shut, in case he might try to get away. A last attempt to save himself, or at the very least, prolong the inevitable pain, Malik moved to the corner of the living room and tried to hide himself next to a desk, hoping that Mariku might not see him at first. He didn't know how he would have reacted… but he would be mad, so very mad, he knew that. Standing shakily, Malik held onto the desk for support, leaning himself onto it a little, trying not to fall. He would not be found at his captor's feet, not again… he would stand and face his fear.

"Mariku, I found your toy." Bakura yelled into the house, crossing the living room and tilting his head to try and see into the hallway. Flicking his eyes over to Malik, their eyes met, and there was something there in the way he looked at him, but it was gone when he looked away again. A couple seconds went by, and Malik was horrified when he saw Bakura become interested, smiling in the direction of the hallway, and moved back, just as if-

And Mariku was there. Stepping out into the living room, their eyes met, just as he had done with Bakura seconds before, but this time, it was so much different. The emotion between them, the terror, everything that Mariku was feeling, he could feel, and was too much, too, too much, more than it had been before. Mariku looked terrible, like he had, if he had been human, …crying. His hair was messy, and it hung limp around his shoulders, eyes a bit hysterical, and Malik knew that he had been looking for him. His shoulders were slumped, and he hadn't even taken the time to find a shirt to put on, since Malik had stolen his, only wearing his pants. If it were anyone else, Malik would have said that he was… sad. But it was gone instantly when Mariku's eyes found him. Everything about him changed. The sadness was gone, and replaced with what Malik had feared would happen. Anger.

"M-Malik." Mariku's voice was shaky, and he clenched his hands into fists, making Malik shrink farther back into the corner. He was doomed. "M-Malik!" And he made his way quickly across the room, every step he took making him more and more petrified. Malik lifted his hands to his face, shaking in fear, trying to hide from his tormentor, and what he knew would be his punishment. Malik had not forgotten Mariku's threat of leaving.

"MALIK!" It had taken far too short of a time for Mariku to reach him, and Malik didn't even have enough time to scream and shield himself before he punched him right in the stomach, harder than Bakura had. The wind knocked out of him, Malik felt a rush of his breath leave, and his legs lost their balance, dropping him to the floor. But Mariku wouldn't let him go that easily, and caught him by the neck of his shirt, holding him up. "YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME, MALIK! HOW COULD YOU-WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!? I TOLD YOU TO NOT TRY AND LEAVE ME!" Mariku lifted him up to eye level, and his face was contorted in anger and… sadness. "DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!? DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WON'T LEAVE?! I LOVE YOU! I'LL NEVER LET YOU LEAVE!" And Malik felt it, the first slap, and it was hard, with the same amount of force that Mariku used to punch him.

His head moved with the action, and it took him a few moments to understand what had happened to him, and the pain that he felt afterwards. Mariku paused for a moment, seeming to regret what he had done, but it passed quickly, and he slapped him again, harder. Stunned, Malik felt his tears return, and he knew that it was not all from the pain. But he could not scream. He didn't have any terror left to express.

"M-Mariku, I-" But he was cut off sharply by another slap. It was tentative, not as hard as the first two, but the meaning was clear and it had form. His head been moved at an odd angle, Malik flicked his eyes up to Mariku's, pleading with him. Already, Mariku had begun to scare him, their contacting skin as he held him up, and the parts where they were touching with only a thin layer of fabric separating them, and the feeling burned more than his cheek did.

Mariku stared back at him, eyes wide, as if still not realizing what he had done. The hand holding him up shook as the other one raised once again, and Malik stared in horror when it did. Tentatively, Mariku slapped him another time. As if testing the waters and finding that it wasn't so cold, he was slapped, again, after that, a little harder. Something inside of him changed, then, and Mariku's expression grew cold and angry. His hand staying raised, it made contact with his cheek, and this time, Malik screamed, because it hurt now, horribly. Over and over he was slapped, and over and over he cried out. He smacked him harder with every turn, and his cheek burned. Faintly, he noticed through the pain that he had been dropped to the floor, and that Mariku had moved over him, legs on either side of his waist as he punished him.

It went on for what seemed an eternity. Slap after slap as he sobbed, the contact of their skin making a smacking sound, rhythm to his pain. Through the haze of pain and horror, Malik could faintly tell Bakura watching them, an unreadable expression on his face as he was abused. Mariku's teeth were gritted, and the force would increase periodically and then die down only for him to speed up. Once in a while, he would switch hands and hit him a different way, on the other cheek, until both felt as if they were on fire, and Malik feared that his skin would tear off. One particularly hard smack to his right cheek, and Malik felt numb. Had he gotten so used to the pain that he could no longer feel it, or had Mariku stopped? Everything felt numb now, and Malik began to cry again. This was only the beginning, he knew. This torturous pain was nothing compared to what he knew would come. As his tears leaked from his eyes and down his cheeks, they stung his skin, and Malik gasped, whimpering, not daring to open his eyes and see the world-, no, hell around him.

But his eyes snapped sharply open when he felt that feeling that had become so accustomed… of Mariku's lips against his own, and Malik found himself awakened with new despair and depression. He had thought that he would have never had to feel that sickening feeling of Mariku's lips against his own ever again… With everything that his life seemed to be fabricated out of, he had been wrong. Mariku shifted over him, winding his arms beneath his body, and pulling him so very close, one hand supporting his head as he kissed him deeper, as Malik became even more sick.

Eventually, he left his lips, and kissed him all over his face, his kisses burning worse multitude times worse than his slaps had. Whispering little nonsenses to him, Mariku let go of a shaky breath and pulled him close, hugging him to his body. Kissing him again, Mariku finally stopped and just held him. This had to have been his punishment, Malik was so scared…

"You know what needs to happen, Malik." Mariku whispered softly to him, and moved so that they were now sitting upwards, kissing the junction of his chin and neck. "The only way for you to learn is if I punish you. You _need_ to learn that this is your home now, and that you cannot get away. Oh Malik…" He sighed, and Malik shivered, the fear retreating, leaving only depression in it's leave, and Malik wondered when it would return. "I love you so much… this is why I'm doing this to you." A kiss to his jaw. "I want you to learn that you need me, that you can't live without me. …I'm taking everything, Malik. Your books, food, everything. Everything will be gone, and you'll learn to appreciate what I have given to you. One week, Malik. One week of no food. If you learn by then, I will feed you again, cook you the best meal you will ever have, and I will buy you a hundred new books. But until then…" Mariku kissed him deeply, reverting back to his lips, and Malik closed his eyes. He had fallen into hell's hold as Mariku softly began to rock them back and forth, always keeping him close. "all you will have is me."

Malik was home.

--

**Those who wanted Mariku to snap got what they wanted. FINALLY. He had been angry, horribly angry when he woke to find Malik gone, but above all else, he felt depression. Why would his Malik run away from him right after he had shown him just how much he had loved him? Not being calm and reasoning with himself, he had thought that Malik was gone. Forever, lost out in the woods with no hope of finding him, and desperately searched the house looking for him, in case he could be found. But when Bakura brought him back, the sadness was replaced with anger. _WHY, HOW_ could his Malik run away from him? He felt betrayed, and as the story progresses, Mariku's true character will be revealed more and more. He is not beyond violence, even towards Malik, and it has happened before, and will only increase as time goes by.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Reading my reviews, I suppose that I should have made this more clear… It's not that Bakura truly believes that Malik was lying, it's more that he doesn't want to believe that he's telling the truth. In the back of his mind, Bakura knew that eventually, Mariku would have sex with Malik, and that is one thought that he could not handle. In Bakura's mind, sex is a major part of their relationship, and if Mariku loved him, why would he do it with anyone else? It would be the ultimate betrayal. Angry at the fact that he is no longer the main center in Mariku's mind and love, he takes it out on Malik, as much as he can. Without Mariku, Bakura truly has nothing. And…it's much easier to take it out on the cause of why Mariku no longer loves him as he used to (Malik) than Mariku, himself. Just thought I should clear some things up. And ohmigod, an update in a week!? Blasphemy!**

**--**

"This is it?" Bakura looked over at him, eyebrows raised in a sarcastic manner as he questioned as to why he had chosen this restaurant, of all places, instead of something nicer.

Mariku shrugged. "I thought it would be nice if we just went some place normal. I don't really feel like spending a lot of money today."

Bakura scoffed, looking a little annoyed, and frowned at him, opening the door and gestured for him to enter first. "Your majesty…" He gave a fake bow, and Mariku laughed. When he wanted to be, Bakura could be good company. Walking through the door, Mariku opened the next one, and bowed the same way to Bakura.

"Your highness…" Bakura merely looked down at him when he passed, as if he had made an idiot of himself.

"Next time, I expect a red carpet."

Mariku often took Bakura out to eat, happy to spend money on him and to be around him. Bakura wasn't home often, and the times he was, he took advantage of the fact. They would eat out at expensive, nice restraunts, their lifestyle allowing it, and Bakura made up for the money they spent once they got back home. It was a fun thing to do, something to look forward to, and it gave their relationship renewed life. With all of the fighting they had been doing recently, Mariku was surprised when Bakura asked to go out again, not expecting him to want to be around him much. Happy to appease him and hopeful that Bakura was getting over himself, Mariku had agreed. But he had been spending so much money lately, and he didn't really feel that he should use up what he had saved for dinner tonight. Because all of his finances were being used up for something much more meaningful and fulfilling. On his Malik.

Every couple of days, he would send him money and a letter, and it was starting to affect his credit. Of course, not drastically, but out of his spending money. He gave himself limits, not to use up or waste any of his inheritance, so he set away a couple hundred dollars for himself every month, which included taking Bakura out and spending money on him. But… Malik needed the money much more than Mariku or Bakura did, and Mariku couldn't be happier to be his benefactor. He knew that Malik appreciated the money, that it was slowly bringing their family out of debt, and the he, deep down, loved him for it, even if he didn't know who he was.

Not wanting to spend a lot of money, the place that he had chosen to take Bakura to was, in a sense, very lack luster. It wasn't bad: fast food, or anything like that, but it wasn't the nicest place to go to. It was just very… common. A regular restraunt that everybody and their family went to. Bakura deserved so much more than that… But Malik deserved his money more. Mariku had made his decision.

"Can I help you?" Having walked to the front desk, Mariku waited for a waitress to seat them, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bakura scrutinized the restaurant. A short brunette girl had smiled at them, holding a couple of menus in her hand as she waited for his answer.

"A table for two?" She moved over behind the counter and checked off a place on a map of the ground floor of the restaurant, finding a table available. Writing something down on the side of the paper, she glanced up at them and smiled. Mariku could feel Bakura shift beside him. He was never really fond of strangers.

"Follow me."

Leading them to the table, Mariku stopped her when she set the menus down, and she looked up questioningly at him.

"Actually, can we have a seat over there?" Mariku gestured with his hand to a booth seat near the corner of the room, and she nodded, picking the menus back up, looking the smallest bit annoyed. She would most likely have to go back and change whatever she had written on that paper.

Handing them both menus when they sat down at their new table, she asked for what they would like to drink, and Mariku's eyes flicked up to Bakura, who was currently ignoring her.

"I'd just like water." Taking out her note pad, she nodded, and looked over at Bakura, who was staring out the window. Mariku kicked him a little under the table when he did not reply, and scowled when he was forced to converse with her.

"God, just give me a beer." Looking a little oddly at him, she wrote the order down and left, saying that she would give them time to order.

"Did you have to do that?" Mariku frowned, whispering softly.

"What?" Bakura scowled again, and folded his arms, trying to be as stubborn as possible.

Mariku sighed. "Nothing…" He didn't want to get in a fight, especially now, when it looked like things were turning around. If Bakura wanted to be rude and act like he was immature and crude, then fine. So be it.

Opening the menu, Bakura did the same, and it was quiet, the only noise being the conversation of the people in the booth in front of them.

"How have your grades been in school?"

"They're good. You don't really need to ask, you know."

"We know, it's just that we like to check up on you. I'm usually away at work, and your sister's busy with her own."

"Sorry, it's just that…I've been a little nervous lately."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just someone. …Whatever. I don't want to make you worry. It's nothing."

"What are you looking at?" Bakura glanced up at him, and Mariku shook his head, feeling a little dazed."…Nothing." Frowning, Bakura narrowed his eyes at him. Turning around, he looked at the table behind him, trying to find what he had been staring at.

"You looking at that kid?" His voice was low, and he leaned himself down onto the table, head propped up by his arms.

"No, why?" Mariku gulped, and his eyes flicked up again.

"Well, I mean, what else would you be looking at?" A suspicious look on his face, Bakura straightened up and lifted his menu up and pointed to something on it. "I'm getting this. Hurry up and order so I can eat. I'm fucking starving." His quiet voice gone, Bakura went back to being demanding and loud.

A couple minutes, and the waitress returned, asking what they would like, and gave their orders. Having time to spend until their food came, Mariku asked Bakura what he had been doing lately, not surprised with the answer he got. The atmosphere starting out tense, Mariku felt guilty for not spending more time with the other man. Yes, it was true that he wasn't home often, but… he could try and make more of an effort to see him. But the more time that went by, the mood that had settled over their table had let up, and Bakura began to talk more. He had never been much of a conversationalist, and what he _did_ say was either crude or an insult. At least he hadn't been as dominating lately… Not as if Mariku didn't enjoy it…

"Bourbon Street Steak, with sautéed mushrooms, and Parmesan Tilapia." They looked up when the waitress returned, carrying with her a tray of what they had ordered. Setting the food down in front of them, Mariku smiled at her and looked over at Bakura, who had his eyes on his food. "Do you need anything else?" Mariku was left to answer her, as Bakura outright wouldn't. "Okay, just call me if you need anything else."

Opening his mouth to continue the conversation they had been having after the waitress left, Mariku wasn't surprised when he found Bakura to already be eating. Since he was never really inclined to talking, and was 'fucking starving,' Mariku shrugged it off and looked down at his old food, picking up his fork, and taking a bite. It was good, for a lackluster restaurant, and Mariku was content.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, only a couple words between them exchanged, and Mariku wondered vaguely if Bakura would be rough that night (even if Bakura didn't like his restaurant choice, he would still take him home and be dominating like usual). Nothing to listen to other than the sound of the British man's chewing, Mariku concentrated on the family in the booth in front of him, scooting over just a little so he could watch the boy sitting down across from him eat.

"Are you okay? You've barely touched your food."

"No, really, I'm fine. Why do you keep asking stuff like that? I'm just not that hungry tonight."

The other person laughed. "Not hungry? When are you ever not hungry?"

The woman laughed too. "Yes, I can't remember a time that you didn't eat everything on your plate. You aren't sick are you?"

"Yeah, because I'm just coughing it up, can't you tell?"

Mariku was jealous of the way that they could be so happy and talk to each other, jealous of the woman and man as the boy smiled at them, and jealous that they were talking, and Bakura was not. Feeling angry, Mariku hid his anger by jabbing his fork down a little too hard into his food. Not repressing the feeling well enough, he scowled outwardly.

"What's your problem?" Bakura looked up at him, food still in his mouth, and Mariku scowled more. He could at least swallow before talking!

"Nothing." He was in a bad mood now.

"The last time I heard that, you went bitchy on me for a week. Are you going to tell me what you're all pissed about, or am I going to have to _get it out of you_ a different way?" Bakura grinned deviously at him, and he could feel his foot press up against his leg under the table.

"I told, you it's nothing! God, just drop it." He really didn't want to deal with Bakura's taunts right now, and it only made him upset when the foot that was touching him was Bakura's, and not someone else's…

"Are you telling me what to do?" Bakura's foot stopped, and his voice was dangerously low, eyes glinting with an odd red color from the light that was above their table. Mariku gulped.

"No." Bakura was the one in charge, the one in control, and Mariku could not tell him what to do. It was one of their rules, along with many others.

"Good." Sitting back up straight, Bakura pushed his plate away from him, signaling that he was done, but that domineering look was still in his eyes, and Mariku wondered when he last saw it. "Get that waitress over here. We're going home now." Taking another fleeting glance behind Bakura to the boy sitting across from him, Mariku's eyes slowly traveled back to the aisle, waiting for her to show up. When she finally did, Mariku paid with cash when she gave them the bill. Bakura wouldn't be happy if he had to wait and use his credit card.

Bakura looked pleased at him, and stood up, putting the coat he had taken with him back on. Doing the same, Mariku's heart stopped when that boy's eyes flicked up to meet his own. They stared at each other for what Mariku saw as an infinity. One glorious, beautiful infinity. The boy looked at him like he was remembering something, knew who he was, and a tiny flicker of fear could be seen before it was crushed, finally breaking their gaze as his family asked what was wrong. _Like he had seen a ghost…_

"Nothing, I just thought that I saw something…"

Bakura taking his arm, Mariku looked back at that table when he dragged him out of the restaurant. That one second was everything that he had wanted, the reason that he had chosen this place to eat out of all others. Mariku would give anything to have Malik look at him.

--

It had been one day. One day since Malik had felt happiness, and already, he was hungry. He had not seen Mariku much, only when he came to take away his books and the other little possessions that he had given him. And he had been tired, too. Ever since his return, Malik had felt fatigue. Had his escape took that much out of him? Malik had never been physically weak, and wondered faintly why he was so… so… tired. But he just felt drained, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Moving was hard, his legs weak, and his head swirled and ached when he stood. Too tired to set his mind to standing and dealing with the consequences, Malik sat perfectly still in his corner, only leaving to use the bathroom or get a drink when he absolutely had too.

The carpet felt cool against his skin as Malik laid in the corner, staring blankly up at the white ceiling, watching sunlight come and go through the clouds. He felt hot, and his forehead burned, making him faintly wonder if he was sick, but didn't dwell on it much. Even thinking took energy, something that he did not have at the moment. Everything was hazy around the edges, as if he couldn't think straight, and so he stared straight above him at the ceiling, figures coming out of the patterns on it. His eyes slowly traveling over to the window, Malik contemplated opening it, anything to make him even a fraction less hot, but never summoned the will to actually open it.

Malik sighed, rolling onto his side and leaned his forehead against the cool floor. He didn't think of anything. Not his family, not Mariku, not his friends, the only thing being the depression resting in the back of his mind, and how it would resurface when his mind drifted to his failed attempt to escape. He felt so tired… but he could not sleep. The ground was too hard, and everything was uncomfortable. His head hurt, he knew that, and he felt very hot. Whimpering unhappily, Malik moved to rest his arms underneath his head, a substitute for a pillow. Using his bed was out of the question. There were too many bad memories of beds in this house… Malik didn't want to remind himself of why he was still here.

Lowering his eyes half way, Malik sighed again, and tried a more comfortable position on his side, facing the doorway. That door… it was his only escape, the only entrance or exit from his hell. The window did not count. He wouldn't be able to jump, and live, anyway… Stomach rumbling, Malik groaned, turning his head so that all he could see was the soft blue carpet. He was so hungry… he hadn't eaten in three days. This was the second day of his 'punishment', and he hadn't eaten the day of his escape, that slapping only a prolonged torture until he would be fed again. But it was his fault, he supposed. His fault for becoming used to eating so much, and so often. The idea that he had become dependant on the food Mariku gave him was sickening. Or maybe, that was just what his stomach was telling him now…

A wave of nausea washing over him when he, once again!, tried to move into a more comfortable position, Malik gagged, repressing the urge to throw up. His body's instincts disgusted him, even if it helped him in the long run. He felt so weak… and he hated it, so, so much. Never had Malik been so helpless as he was now, and had been since he had forced to stay here. Every day he struggled with… something, whether it be depression, Mariku's continuing touches and love, or, now, sickness. Too tired to even reflect on his life, Malik closed his eyes, not wanting to think anymore. It just made everything worse.

As the day went on, the sicker Malik got, and the more his head hurt. Everything ached and was hot, burning up as he scooted closer to the wall, pressing himself close next to it, loving the way the freezing temperature leaked in a little to where he stayed now. Thoughts and feelings slurring together, Malik's world consisted only of his sick, aching stomach and the scratchy carpet beneath him, his only want being to make the horrible heat go away.

At some point, Malik saw the door open, and simply closed his eyes when Mariku walked in, closing it softly behind him. He was too tired and miserable to defend himself… Remembering faintly that he was still in his 'punishment', Malik struggled to open his eyes, watching Mariku's fuzzy outline cross the room to kneel in front of him, not knowing what he would do, or try to do to him in a state of such weakness. Whimpering when Mariku reached out to stroke the side of his face, Malik sighed when his hand moved to rest on top of his forehead, his palm cool. It felt nice… Malik wondered vaguely how he would have reacted if he had been told earlier that he found pleasure in Mariku's sickening touch, but it was gone quickly from his mind. He could think nothing else than of his sickness and what revolved around it, and now, Mariku's cool hand was making it better.

"Why did you have to make yourself sick, Habibi?" Or at least, that's what he thought he said when Mariku spoke to him. He couldn't really be sure, everything just seemed to slur together… But instead of saying it with a chastising and cruel manner as he had expected, Mariku smiled down at him, speaking softly in the manner he often referred to as _loving._ Malik did not reply, not having the strength left even for such a simple thing. "Stay still, okay? I'm going to go get a thermometer." And he smiled again, rising to leave.

It took entirely too short of time for Mariku to come back, and lifted his eyes again when Mariku tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, thinking that he must have fallen asleep for that short period of time. Mariku held a thermometer in his hands and took off the clear plastic cover around it, pressing a button it before looking back down at Malik, who had closed his eyes once again, concentrating on just breathing and trying not to become scared with Mariku so close to him.

"Open your mouth." Malik frowned, furrowing his eyebrows, not understanding what Mariku meant, and not liking what he had asked him to do. "Come on, my Malik. I just want to see how sick you are." Mariku's hand finding it's way back into his hair, Malik complied, parting his lips slightly, but not too much.

Mariku set the thermometer underneath his tongue, and Malik was disgusted with how he was treating him like a child, helpless to do anything for himself. Letting his eyes drift closed again, Malik waited for it to beep and show him that he didn't need _anyone_ taking care of him, let alone his tormenter. When it did finally beep, Mariku took the plastic appliance out of his mouth, making Malik sigh in relief at it's absence. Mariku looked at it briefly before leaving again, for what, Malik did not know.

-

Again, he was awoken from his haze of sleep by Mariku's touch, and was disappointed when he was returned to the real world and the sickness and depression that came with it. Mariku smiled when he opened his eyes, and moved his hand out of his hair to trail along his jaw, rubbing his thumb where he stopped. Leaning in close to him, Mariku whispered something that he could not make out, and shivered at their close proximity and the way that his breath ghosted over the tip of his ear.

Giving him no warning other than another ambiguous whisper, Mariku gently rolled him away from the wall, bending his legs so that he could put his arm underneath them. Using the other to support his head and back, Mariku lifted him up with a little effort, and Malik could vaguely hear his mind yelling at him to 'get away' and to be terrified, because this was the man who had done everything to him. Meaning to try and struggle out of his hold and to have his feet touch the floor, all Malik managed to do was shift a little and moan when he did so, the feeling not settling well with his stomach. Mariku shushed him, moving his arm a little to hold him better, and slowly crossed the floor, carrying him to his bed on the opposite side of the room. Scared of falling, Malik subconsciously drew closer to him, something that he could not help but do, but hated himself for it anyway. Scared when Mariku set him down on the bed, he tried to sit up, but Mariku pushed him back down, extirpating any strength he might have had.

Becoming panicky, Malik tried to roll away from him to the other side of the bed, but Mariku stopped him easily. Even through the heavy haze of heat and nausea, Malik knew that he should not be anywhere near his captor, especially not in such a weak state of being. Being in bed and having him so close-…he'd rather be touched. Dragging the back of his hand across his forehead, Mariku frowned lightly and sat down next to his side, leaning over him slightly to brush a clump of his bangs out of his face. Malik's breath was heavy and hot when his hands moved down lower, and with muted horror, he watched as he lifted the bottom of his shirt up. Trying again to get away, that horrible pit of fear that resided in him beginning to act up again, Malik whimpered and squirmed, kicking his leg slightly to the left, as if he could save himself… But as was becoming customary, Mariku only stifled the physical attempts to portray his fear and shushed him again, like a child. Returning to his shirt, Mariku slowly pushed it up his torso, and Malik's breath caught in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut, nausea working it's way up his stomach as Mariku's hands ran across the flat expanses of his abdomen.

He was brought back suddenly to the reality of what was happening when Mariku did this, and Malik was bombarded with the sickening remembrance of his night of hell, which he tried so hard to forget… Mariku's hands were now something else. They were the reminder of how he had raped him, with those same hands… they had done so much to him, and now they were back. Touching him, they moved over his skin, feeling him, _touching _him. And their skin connected. Malik couldn't think of a feeling worse than human contact, not anything. Not fear, or depression, or loneliness, or hatred. And his fear only mounted when Mariku's hands moved to his chest, pushing his shirt as far as it could go.

"Can you move your arms for me, Habibi?" Mariku spoke gently, like he thought that if his voice was too loud, it would hurt him. "I need to take your shirt off. It will make you more cool." He smiled softly down at him, and Malik only looked away. It hurt to move… but he just didn't care anymore. What was the point of fear, of his sadness? Nothing came of it, Mariku would always touch him in the end, anyways… there was no point in resisting. He had been beaten.

But he must not have been quick enough in Mariku's eyes, because he reached out to move his arms up near his head, making it awkward when he gently slid his shirt over his head, which required him to lift him up a little. It was not the first time that he had been exposed under Mariku's view, but it didn't matter, and those little butterflies of fear began to flutter in his stomach, feeling naked, helpless, pathetic. And hungry. Malik remembered that he was hungry. Smiling down at him again, Mariku folded his shirt and set it down near the edge of the bed after moving off of it to stand up again. Shivering a little from the cold air that hit his skin after his shirt was taken from him, Malik turned to his side, covering his eyes with his hand. Mariku seemed to notice this, because he felt him pull the blankets up around him afterwards, and Malik no longer felt as naked. He hated this, being treated like a sick child… but he was too tired to fight back. And it did feel better to lie on bed than on the floor… even with the memories that it renewed.

Closing his eyes, Malik continued to focus on breathing, feeling a little better and less hot, even though his forehead still burned and his breath was heavy. It was strange, how he could take comfort in what his tormentor provided, the cause of why he would need them, but the thought was quickly gone from his mind, like everything that he would think about now. It just… didn't matter. He couldn't concentrate on thinking, just the feeling of being cool, and how his stomach was quiet for the time being. But faintly, he wondered when Mariku had gone, and when he would come back, the room being oddly quiet. Having nothing left to worry about, only the feeling of apprehension in the back of his mind, Malik took the opportunity of a quiet room, and fell asleep.

-

Mind lethargic from sleep and his body's recovery, Malik only faintly noticed it when Mariku came back. His hand was there, and it brought something cold and wet with it, a washcloth with ice inside, and he set it on his head. The relief was instant, and Malik sighed at the feeling, no longer as hot. But everything came with a price, and Mariku's hand did not leave, only continued to stay long after he had given him his temporary panacea. Mariku did not stand anymore, but had brought a chair with him, and his body was close as he slowly stroked the side of his face. His fingers drifted down past his cheek, lingering on his chin, where they would move back up to his temple, the cycle repeating itself so long that Malik lost track of when he had first felt the fear of his touch. Trying to open his eyes and look to the side of him, Malik gave up when his eye lids refused to move, only his eyebrows furrowing when Mariku's hand stopped, cupping his cheek. He heard Mariku sigh, and he rubbed his hand where it had stopped, Malik's mind telling him to wake up and get away, the voice easily ignored.

"Malik…" Mariku's voice was soft, still, and Malik knew that he thought that he was still left in repose. He would not give himself away, even if it was half true. "I love you, Malik. I know that you love me, too, I do, it's just that… god." He exhaled sharply, hand moving at an odd angle with his breath. "I'm waiting for you, can't you see? One day you'll realize it, and we can be happy, forever, and I can love you, forever. I wish you could realize this sooner. Oh, Malik… I love you so much. How many times have I told you? A hundred? A thousand? But it's okay, I could say it forever. I love you, Malik, I love you. Don't make me wait long, please. I don't think I can hold it out much longer… Don't make me do something that I will regret." And Mariku's hand fell away, Malik internally sighing in relief, his mind half awake. But relief was short lived as he felt him leave that chair and move to sit next to him on the bed.

He could hear Mariku breathing as he moved over him, hands on either side of his head, making Malik feel claustrophobic, in the very least. He didn't like this, he didn't like this, he was scared, scared, scared! But Malik couldn't will himself to wake up completely. His mind was keeping him in suspended animation, forced to endure terror while his body slowly recovered. Mariku's face was close, inches from his own, and he could now feel his breath as well, so close to him. But Mariku did not do anything, he only sat there halfway over him as he looked down at him. Malik didn't like it, didn't like the way he was so close, the way that he watched him so intently, the words he had said, and the horrible realization that… even though he had been raped, it was only the beginning, and it could get much, much worse. Every second that went by added to his mounting fear, that horrible, ever present fear that was becoming so accustomed that he couldn't remember a day that he had not felt it.

Everything was give and take. Mariku had graced him with the washcloth, taken away the heat, and allowed him to move to the bed, but the 'take' overwhelmed the 'give' so much more, and the equivalency was overbalanced. All he had done was take. He had taken his life, his family, his friends, his possessions, his freedom, the remainder of his virginity, his food, and now, he took the feeling of security from him, or at least, the little bit of it that was left. Their faces close, Mariku's lips brushed his own, soft, tentative, and he kissed him slowly and deliberately. H-he was scared. He was so vulnerable, weak, and he couldn't do anything to stop him if… if… Mariku decided to…- Malik was scared. But he had been blessed, and Mariku moved away quicker than he had expected, the feeling of his lips still lingering.

Time passed slowly, after that, and he felt Mariku gently move off of the bed and away from him, to sit in the chair by his side. With his absence, Malik's fear left as well, and he was grateful for it's departure. Having not noticed Mariku take the washcloth from him, he felt him set it back down onto his forehead, once again cold when the ice had melted. A tiny bit more comfortable, Malik's subconscious won the battle in his head, and Malik fell back to sleep, listening to Mariku's soft proclamations of love.

-

"Here, take this."

Malik slept fitfully, and he woke up many times, always feeling hot and sick. And Mariku was always with him when he did. He would check his temperature and fix the covers around him, touching his face to feel if he was as hot, and Malik endured it. Strength gone, he let Mariku touch him, because he was so tired… He had thrown up, once, and felt immediately relieved afterwards. It was as if he was being purged, of sickness, his fear, and the disgusting feeling of Mariku's touch. But the feeling of despair and hopelessness still remained, long after his tormentor had taken away what he had gotten sick in. His family was gone, he would never see them again… Faintly, in the back of his mind, he remembered when Mariku had told him that he would come to depend on him, and he was right. Mariku was his everything, now. He was his food, his clothes, his bed, his caretaker, and the source of his pain, his world. Without him, he had nothing, no one to take care of him. …Did he… really think that? Or maybe, Malik was just too sick to think straight…

Mariku leaned over in his chair and held out his hand, two pills resting in his palm. Moaning softly, Malik rubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to wake up, not wanting to sleep any longer. Sitting up straight so that his back rested against the headboard, Malik's head spun, feeling dizzy, and he moaned again, clutching his head. Mariku looked at him worriedly, and moved to run his hand down his back when Malik bent forward slightly. Looking up at him sharply, Malik's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to convey the terror and revulsion at having Mariku touch his bare back. Mariku's hand left him.

His breath still heavy and hot, Malik watched as Mariku once again offered the medicine to him, but refused it, not wanting to take anything he gave to him.

"Habibi, it will make you better. It's just Tylenol…" Mariku smiled, keeping his voice soft as he continued to persuade him to take the medicine. Eventually, Malik complied, and held out his hand. Mariku looked please and handed him the pills, closing his hand around them, and looked at him a while until Malik jerked his hand out of his grasp.

Handing him a cup of water, Malik took it eagerly from his hands, placed the pills on his tongue, and quickly took his first gulp, feeling them go down his throat. His mouth tasted disgusting, making the water have a distinct metallic tang to it, but he drank deeply, the water feeling good and cool in his stomach. He didn't remember being so thirsty… Malik coughed a little bit when Mariku lowered the cup from his mouth, sputtering when it was gone, and reached back for it, but Mariku only held it farther away. He didn't understand… why couldn't he have water? It was… only food that he was banned from having. He couldn't take away his water, too, could he?

"If you drink too fast, you'll make yourself sick again. Your stomach is empty, and if you swallow too much too fast, it'll upset it. Drink it slowly, Malik. I can always get you more." Mariku chided him, making sure that he was listening, and once he was sure that he was, he handed Malik back the cup, which he took back quickly.

But it wasn't that easy, and Mariku's hand refused to leave the glass of water, making Malik confused and uneasy. He tried jerking his hand away a little bit, to get him off of it, but Mariku would not let go, and Malik sighed dejectedly. Nothing ever went right… Understanding what Mariku wanted, Malik pursed his lips, refusing to move. He would not humiliate himself for such a small gain, and the cup sat still in their hands.

"Aren't you thirsty, Malik? You were so eager to get it back. Drink." He looked down at the cup, the clear water taunting him. He was still so hot and thirsty…

A little shakily, he raised it to his lips, letting the rim rest on them a little, but not yet drinking. Debating on whether or not he should drink, Mariku made the choice for him, and gently tipped the cup up the little bit he needed to taste water once again. Face burning in humiliation, Malik let Mariku hold the cup for him as he drank, not knowing if the water and everything it brought was worth the embarrassment and degradation. Lowering it from his lips, Mariku let Malik breathe as he smiled at him. Malik closed his eyes, the water not settling well within his empty stomach, and looked back over at Mariku after a while. He hadn't talked to him since-… Malik felt sick again.

"M-Mariku…" Malik's voice was raspy, having not used it for a couple of days. He coughed and tested his voice again, finding it better, and spoke again. "Mariku, how-…" What did he want to say, what _could_ he say? Terror, depression…Mariku had caused all of these things. Mariku had touched him in a place that was only his, he had touched him, everywhere, and he had not stopped. He had not stopped when he begged him to take pity on him, when he had cried and cried for him to make him stop reliving his nightmare. What Mariku had done… there would never be anything worse than what he had done to him. It was the quintessence of his phobia, the one thing that he could never forgive, that he could never forget. Malik didn't know what to say. "I'm hungry." Giving up on trying to portray the emotions that were eating out at his heart, Malik looked dejectedly down at his lap. It was all Mariku's fault.

Mariku frowned, looking a little upset when he said this, and sat up straighter in his chair, eyes never leaving his own. "I know you are, Malik." He never gave him an answer, just shot agreements back at him, as if he was avoiding the reason behind his question. "But Malik, you are the one who has done this to yourself, not me. I'm not the one who made you leave, my Malik. It was you. You did this to yourself, your actions are what made me punish you. I told you, my Malik, I told you to not leave me, and you disobeyed me. …How could you do that, Malik? After all I've done for you…" Setting the cup back on the table, Mariku sighed, and Malik mourned it's loss.

"I want some more…" Malik didn't want to think about what Mariku had told him, didn't want to think of how he could possibly doing this to himself. It was just so sick and twisted.

Looking back down at him with an odd expression on his face, Mariku shook his head, refusing his request. "If you drink any more, you'll make yourself sick." Maybe, Mariku now knew what it felt to not have his questions answered.

"Mariku…!" Malik groaned, clutching his head, a throbbing headache beginning to start up. He was so exasperated, tired, thirsty, and hungry. If Mariku could take away the heat, he could give him the water back. "Please, Mariku, my head hurts. I just want something to drink..." Looking a little pleadingly up at him, Malik frowned, his head starting to spin again.

"I'm sorry, Habibi, but no. The medicine should start working soon. You'll be okay, I promise. I know you feel bad, but it will all be over soon. …Hopefully, you will have learned your lesson." Reaching out to pet the side of his cheek, Mariku gave his alien smile, and gently pushed him back down from his sitting position so that his head rested against the soft pillows. Brushing a couple pieces of hair from his face, Mariku pulled the blankets back up around him. "I don't want you to be upset. In a week, it will all pass, and we can be happy again. But for now, you need to rest and let your body recover." Happy… Malik didn't think there was such a word.

"I'm hungry…" And his words were reinforced by a loud growl from his stomach, making Mariku look a little guiltily down at him, but his standing point did not waver.

"Then you should have thought about what you had done before you did it. You hurt me much more than you hurt now." His tone of voice had grown a little angry, and Malik flinched back away from him when he reached out to touch the side of his face again. Sighing, Mariku picked up the glass of water and stood. "I'm sorry, Habibi. Just try and get better soon." Looking back at him one last time, Mariku left the room, taking the water with him. Giving his own little relieved sigh, Malik stared up at the ceiling, his eye lids lowering until sleep took him over once again.

The next time that Malik woke up, Mariku's presence had been replaced by a bowl of fruit.

**--**

**Just like before, how Malik had tried to block the memory of Mariku masturbating in front of him from his mind, he does this with his rape. It is something he cannot handle, and cannot cope with. So he tries to ignore it, even though it still resurfaces often in his mind. Not being able to think straight because of his sickness -don't you remember being sick? Everything becomes muddled and the only thing you can think about is getting better, and how uncomfortable you are-, his mind is muddled, and he gives up easily, giving in to even fear and Mariku's touch. His submission won't last long. Or at least… he hopes.**

**As for Mariku, he is just glad that Malik is back with him. It has always been his dream to take care of him, quite literally, and so he jumps on the opportunity. Although, he does hold blame and anger towards Malik, since he had thought that Malik would never try to leave him, and had been horribly upset when he had. Remember, there is that part of Mariku that sticks true with the canon series. He is not mentally healthy, and harbors extreme violence and anger, especially when things do not go his way.**


	15. Chapter 15

**I took a break from writing for a while, coupled with my one shot, so that explains my absence. Also because I'm lazy. Unfortunately, even though I went for so long with out an update, I didn't make up for it in quality. I've been out of the writing lingo, so this chapter isn't really up to par. If you enjoy it, though, great, it'd make me happy, at least. Maybe I'm just my harshest critic, is all.**

**--**

Malik drummed his fingers nervously on the handlebars of his motorcycle, leaning forward so that he rested his head upon his arms. Breathing softly, Malik silently studied the place around him. Clean cut grass, neat row of hedges, and a bed of dirt that had once held flowers in the summer, a nice house with black shingles and brick walls. It was all so different, so foreign from what he had grown up from. America was nothing like Egypt. How long had it been since they had moved here? Four years, three? Malik didn't remember… the years just all melted together into one big old puddle that he was always accidentally stepping in, making his shoes soaking wet. Malik sighed.

It didn't feel good to be outside, alone, without anyone near him, where anything could happen and nobody would never even know… Malik shivered, closing his eyes. He really shouldn't be out here, it was too dangerous. The nervous feeling in his gut alone told him that. But he was always nervous, now. Always. Any sudden movement, any sharp sound made him on edge, and anything that brushed past him made him wary. But he had good reason to be scared. It had only been two weeks since-… since… Malik shuddered outwardly, shifting so that his face was covered by his arms. That boy, the one who had been harassing him… his stalker had been watching him, he knew it. Who else would have killed him? It was his fault that he was dead. And, if it was that boy, who was next? He _killed_ him, ended his life, all because of Malik. He was a murderer, insane, and could kill Malik at any time.

And Malik was outside now. He was jeopardizing his life to wait for his friend so that they could go somewhere else that wasn't safe. But nowhere was safe anymore… Malik sighed, sitting back up, his eyes still closed. Everything was so wrong, and it was getting dangerous. At some point, he would have to confront his stalker, but he was too scared. Malik had never been a weak person, but this, this was different, different from anything that had happened before. And, Malik was scared. Terrified, even, but rightly so, even if he still hated it. Malik didn't like to feel helpless…

"You know how funny you look, right?"

Malik jumped, his eyes snapping open, taken surprise at the sudden voice. Twisting around, he let go of a sigh of relief, glad that it wasn't anybody to be scared of.

"God, you scared the crap out of me. Why'd you have to do that?" Heart beating fast, Malik glared, trying to get rid of the scared expression on his face.

"I think your reaction says it all." Glaring more, the other boy grinned at his unhappiness, putting up his hands in a mocking gesture. "You gonna beat me up for it? I don't think I can take much more from you, oh please, mercy."

"Yeah, you see here? This is muscle. I don't think you want that." Letting his scowl drop, Malik played along, lifting up his arm and pointing.

"God no. I don't think that I'd survive, you being so skinny and all. Imagine how much it'd hurt." Smiling, his hands dropped, and Malik raised his eyebrow, giving him a 'wanna try it out and see?' look.

This he liked. He liked his friends, liked the fact that even though he wasn't American, people still were friendly. In fact, he had made quite a few friends, even though he had twice as many enemies. It was racism, they said, but Malik only saw it for what arrogance truly was. "You got everything? I thought we could ride there, and I don't use my motorcycle much, so be grateful, Joshua." Malik had had lots of friends in Egypt. His town was small, so everyone knew everybody, and they had all played together. There were fights, of course, between different little cliques that they'd had, but, even still, Malik felt like he had belonged. Until his father pulled him out of school. He had been bad, he had told him, and his initial punishment lasted long after… then. Malik had no longer been able to play with his friends. Friends, his father had said, were for good boys. Not Malik.

After his father's death, however, and their move to America, Malik was once again able to go to public school. He had almost forgotten about friends… But Malik had never had a best friend. He wasn't so sure, now. He liked Joshua, a lot. He was always so nice to him, even if he was cold to everyone else. Besides, Joshua bought him things. It wasn't as if he was materialistic, but Malik liked to have the same things as everyone else, and the CD's that Joshua bought him made him feel like he wasn't as… poor. Vaguely, Malik wondered why he felt no guilt for the things that he bought him. But he had told him not to worry about it, so he didn't.

"Nothin' much to bring, really. I've got my wallet. Do I need more than that?"

"No, sorry, I guess not." Shaking his head, Malik ran a hand through his hair, feeling a little flustered. It was hard to think straight with all the things running through his head. He shouldn't be out here on his motorcycle in his friend's drive way. He was putting them both in danger…

"That's nothing to apologize about, so don't." Looking at him a little oddly, Joshua shifted in front of him, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

"…Okay."

Mind drifting again, the atmosphere felt awkward as neither spoke, Malik not paying much attention to what he was doing. That boy, he had been killed. _Killed. Murder__ed__._ And what was he doing now? Putting his friend in danger by being outside with him? Anyone that he met with could be killed, too, that boy might have just been the start. His sister, Rishid, Joshua… This was no way to-

"Are we gonna go, or what?" Malik blinked, looking up a little startled. He hadn't realized that he had just left him standing there…

"O-Oh yeah, sure. Sorry about that. I was just thinking about something."

"Man, I told you not to apologize so much."

"Yeah, sorry." Malik laughed when he groaned dramatically, shaking his head into his hands. "So yeah, let's go. I don't really like just staying out here." That, at least, was the truth. The reason behind it, however, he did not say.

"You're the boss." Hands falling away from his face, Joshua smiled and moved towards him, swinging his leg over the back of the motorcycle. "I'm going to kill myself."

"Do you really not trust me?" Turning his head, Malik grinned and started it up, kicking the stand out.

"Give me a reason why I should."

"Because if it weren't for me, you would have nothing to do." Picking up his helmet, he gave it to the brown haired boy, only a bit unnerved that it was his only one, and that he didn't have a spare for him to use. "But I'm not going to have you die, anyway."

Looking at it, Joshua flicked his eyes back up to Malik when he put it on. "How do I look?" Grinning, he put his arms around Malik's middle.

"Great…" Gulping a little, Malik shook his head. It was just his friend, there was nothing to be scared about, and it was the only way that he could ride without falling off. Even still, Malik didn't like his arms around him, or the way that they drifted a little lower when they began to drive.

-

"That's really expensive." Malik looked critically down at the CD in his hands, flipping it to the back where the price tag was stamped on. "Who would pay that much?" Not him, at least.

"Well I mean, they haven't come out with a new one for a couple of years. They're going to get as much out of it as they can." Leaning on the shelf behind him, Joshua frowned, running his hand over the cases of the row of CDs. "It's what they always want, Malik. Money, money, money."

"You think I don't know about that? …What else is there?" Turning around to face the shelf, Malik quickly pulled out a different case, setting the old one on a rack above them, forgetting about it. "But man, I'd pay for this. …" Glancing over at the other boy, Malik stared at him purposefully until he looked over.

"…What?" Joshua made a fake grimacing face and backed up a little. Raising his eyebrows, Malik continued to stare, knowing that he would give in soon. "Oh no, not this time." Raising his hands, his fake grimace dropped and he grinned, walking back to him. "You know I don't have any money left for mooches like you." Leaning in towards him, Malik pouted dramatically and furrowed his eyebrows. "No. No way. Not ever in a- oh god, fine." Shaking his head, Joshua put his hands onto Malik's shoulders and he pushed him away, making Malik grin.

"You know you were going to anyway. I just asked first." Handing him the CD, Malik felt no guilt when they went to the cash register and his friend bought it for him. He was just being dramatic, was all. He always bought him things… Malik didn't even need to ask.

Giving him the bag that his CD had been put into, Joshua frowned and sighed harshly. "I hope you're happy. That was _my_ money that I just spent." Opening the door for him, Malik smiled and gestured with his hand to walk through. "And I'm sure that you will miss it so much."

"I've already started to mourn. Man, it sure did get cold fast."

The door swinging closed behind them, Malik shivered, not looking forward to driving home. It was a Sunday, and Malik had offered to drive them to the mall since he was the one with the driver's license. He hadn't really thought about it much, the cold, since it had only been a little chilly that morning, and now regretted taking his motorcycle. The wind would be really cold… "Do you remember where you parked?" Turning to look at him, Joshua shoved his hands into his coat's pockets and frowned, his hair rustling a little.

"Yeah, I think." Squinting his eyes, Malik shivered again while he looked for his motorcycle in the row of cars. "It's over there, I think. Yeah, I found it." Smiling, he looked over at the other boy, and jogged down the steps to the parking lot. "Hurry up, I want to go home."

"Yeah, yeah." Running a little to catch up with him, Joshua hit him on the arm, and Malik glared.

"What the hell was that for!?" Scowling, Malik hit him back, but he only grinned. Malik never knew how he could smile so much. Or maybe, it was just Malik who didn't smile enough…

"For wasting my money." At least his smiles were sincere, though. "Hey, that's it, right?" Stopping, Malik turned to see what he gestured at, and felt a little embarrassed when he had almost walked right past his motorcycle. Setting his bag onto the seat, Malik leaned over to check a small dent on the side of it, frowning when he realized that the car next to him must have caused it. Turning to say something up to his friend, Malik paused when he saw that his front tire was deflated. Heart dropping, Malik glanced over his shoulder to the other one, and gulped when he saw that it was deflated as well. Bending down, Malik's eyes widened when he inspected the wheel, a big slash tearing across the front. Heart rate increasing, he checked the back wheel, noticing the same puncture. Someone had slashed his tires. But who-…? And then he knew, before he saw the little piece of white paper sticking out of a crevice between the handlebars and the seat.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Leaning his head over, Joshua frowned worriedly, but Malik wasn't paying any attention to him, the only thing on his mind was the raw terror of what he had let happen. Snatching the paper out of his motorcycle, Malik stood up quickly and turned, Joshua stepping back at his expression.

"We have to leave. Now." Grabbing his bag, Malik twisted around desperately, trying to at least see if he could spot anything, the person who would have done it… "Come on, we're going to take the bus."

"What are you talking about? Malik, what's wrong!? Why are you so scared?" Reaching out to touch him, Malik shoved him away, his eyes still wide with fear. Giving him a shaky smile, Malik gripped the envelope in his hand.

"D-Don't worry about it, it's nothing. Someone just slashed my tires, is all. Come on, I said let's go." Grabbing his arm, Malik pulled him forward, looking nervously back at his motorcycle.

"Malik, who-" Opening his mouth to say something, Joshua was cut off, and this time, he did not smile.

"God, just shut up!" Dropping his hold on him, Malik spun around and yelled. He didn't mean to, really, but Malik was scared and couldn't deal with this, with any of it. He just wanted to be alone… "…Come on." His expression a little hurt, Joshua stood still, not knowing what was going on, only that Malik was scared, and that someone had slashed his tires. Staying quiet, he followed Malik a little behind him, not wanting to be any closer.

The walk across the parking lot to the bus stop was tense, and the wait for the bus itself was the same. Asking for Joshua's cell phone, those were the only other words spoken between them as Malik called an auto shop to ask how much it'd cost to get new tires. Sighing at the price, Malik silently handed the phone back to the other boy, and they stood in silence until the bus came and they boarded, Joshua paying for both their fares. As always.

-

It was dark, now, and Joshua had fallen asleep next to him on the bus, the route going a long while before they would board another to get back to the suburbs. Leaning his head into his hands, Malik rested his arms on his knees and sighed, stressed. He was so stupid… _How_ had he been so stupid? Nothing good could have come out of going outside with his friend, and he had known that. So why did he take the risk? Was it to retaliate? Too try and still live a normal life? He had learned his lesson, though… Malik would never go outside with another person again. He had gone without friends before, and he could do it again.

And his stalker had been watching him. How else would he have known that he had been with Joshua? He had been watching him… but for how long? Groaning, Malik thought back to every person he had seen at the mall that day, but he would never know if one of the people he had seen was them. His stalker could be anybody, at any time. He could be someone he knew, even. And it scared him. If he followed him to the mall, then he would follow him wherever he went. He knew where he lived, and he could kill him, kidnap him at any time. Nowhere that Malik went was safe, and no one who he went with was safe, either. He had put his friend at risk… and it was just a stroke of luck that it was only his motorcycle that got the punishment.

Only his motorcycle… Laughing harshly into his hands, Malik sat back up, his back resting straight up against the seat, head leaning back onto the headrest. His stalker must have known what his motorcycle meant to him, out of all the things he might have done… Malik understood, this way. It was a threat. His hand becoming lax, Malik looked down when something slipped out of it, forgetting all about the letter. Leaning to pick up the letter that he had crumpled in his hand, Malik felt fear rise up inside of him. His hands a little shaky as he ripped the envelope open, Malik pulled the letter out, knowing that he would have to read it at some point. Flipping it over, Malik closed his eyes and inhaled. This was so screwed up… Not knowing what else to do, Malik opened his eyes and began to read.

_Malik,_

_Have you forgotten about me? Have you forgotten about my love? How can I love you, Malik, when you chose to directly disobey what I tell you to do? I'm not asking much, just for you to listen to me, Malik. I told you not to go out with your friends. You don't need them. They're not your real friends, anyway. I don't want to hurt you, Malik, but you're the one who makes me do this. It's your fault that I had to go to this extreme; I did it because I love you, and I want you to learn. Do you know how much it hurts me, Malik, to see that boy touching you? Nobody is allowed to touch you, ever. I've told you this! And yet, you still will not listen! Look at all I've done for you, everything that I've given you, and this is how you repay me!? Not anymore, Malik. The next time you choose to ignore what I've told you, something much worse will happen, and you will regret it far, far more. There is no money, this time. No gifts. People who don't listen to me and make me mad don't get nice things. I love you, my beautiful Malik, more than you'll ever know._

_-M.T.I._

Reaching the bottom of the letter, Malik felt sick. With every stroke of his stalker's pen, it brought him fear. He hated him, his stalker. He was ruining his life, and he could do nothing about it. Malik couldn't call the police; his stalker had already forbidden him from it. He didn't even know their name… All he knew was the small scribble of their initials. _M.T.I._ He felt lost, hopeless, without any means to escape from the pit that he was enclosed in.

Sighing shakily, Malik turned his head to look at Joshua, who was still asleep. In a way, he blamed him for what had happened; he was the one who had wanted to go out so much, anyway… But he blamed himself more. It was all his fault, everything. And if his stalker targeted his friends, then he might target his family as well… Malik could never live with himself if something happened to them. Looking up at the ceiling, Malik closed his eyes. He didn't know why these things happened, why they ever did, or why they started. He couldn't live with himself, even now. He made himself sick… But it was the only way. If Malik wanted to keep on living, then he would have to learn to deal with his problems by himself, even if they were bigger than he was. Malik was all alone…

--

Had it really been a month, now? A month since he had had his Malik with him? It felt like such a short amount of time compared to how long he had to wait to get him. The days were meaningless, now. It didn't matter _how long_ he was able to touch and look and keep him, what only mattered was that he could. Every morning that he woke up, Malik would be there for him. Every day that he lived, he now had a reason to. Every night he could sit behind his door and listen to him, know that he was there, that this was really real. Malik was _with_ him, and it was as if the reality had not yet sunk in.

When he touched him, it was as if his fingers were numb. Could he really feel him? Could he really understand that this was Malik, the boy who he loved so, so much, who he was touching then? When he kissed him, did he realize that the boy he held in his arms was the only person in the world who he loved more than life? Malik was his life… Without Malik, he would be lost. Without Malik, he would live his life like he had before he had met him; meaningless, without cause; he had never really lived before. Malik brought him reason and purpose, and he gave him everything that he was in return. Mariku had never been happier.

Frowning a little, Mariku leaned his forehead onto the outside of Malik's door and exhaled softly. He had been busy, lately, having to deal with all the things he had on his mind, constantly driving back and forth between- No. Mariku wouldn't think about that now. Today, he was taking the day off so he could just spend time with his Malik. He really didn't do enough of that… It was strange, how much he loved him, had wanted him, and now that he finally had him, he never used their time together to the fullest extent. Some days, he wouldn't even see him at all. Malik was so quiet, and when he was busy, he could almost forget about him. It made him feel guilty, and the smallest bit sick. He was supposed to be taking care of him, loving him, but now that Malik was truly his, he didn't feel the rush to spend all of his time with him. After all, he would be his forever.

Today would be different, though. He promised himself that nothing would get in the way of spending time with him. Not Bakura, his job, or the ever pressing fear that the police would show up at his house and ask for a search. Nothing. Today was only theirs. Besides, even if Malik was getting better, he was still sick, and needed someone to take care of him, even if it was his own fault that he had gotten sick in the first place. If he hadn't have ran, he would have never been out in the cold. Why would he do something so stupid?! Malik was smart, he knew he wasn't stupid, so why would he do something like that? He knew how much he loved him, he knew that he was safe with him and that he wouldn't ever need to leave. He knew that his life was much better now, so… why? It made him mad, in the very least. The idea that he would try to leave him, that he would so cruelly deny his love and his new life. Did he think that something would come out of it? He had spent so much time and money on him, and he fucking deserved to have him with him! Was he going too easy on him? Did he think that Mariku would just let it slide, that he would forget all about it!? No, Mariku did not forget, not in the least. It was Malik's own damn fault that he had gotten sick! If he had only listened to him, it would have never happened! And after he had made love to him, too…

Gritting his teeth, Mariku clenched his hand into a fist, becoming more and more angry the longer he thought about it. After everything he had done for him, the time and energy he had put into making that night perfect, Malik had to go and ruin it… He had ruined everything! Was Mariku not good enough for him!? Was _anything_ he ever did good enough for him!? He was never grateful, ever! He was always yelling at him, screaming at him, and he got away with it, too. Sighing again, Mariku's hand unclenched and became lax, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't be mad at Malik, it wasn't his fault… After all, he loved him. Maybe Mariku had spoiled him, and that was why. Yes, that was it. He would just have to become more strict with him. Laughing a little, Mariku smiled. He could never be strict with Malik, ever. As long as he was with him, Mariku knew that he would spoil him, and he loved it, too. He loved his Malik, and wanted to give him everything. All Malik needed to do was ask…

Shifting, Mariku moved away from the door, wondering how his mind had wandered so easily. He had done his boy's laundry, and had meant to bring him new clothes since he had only changed once after he had gotten sick, and didn't very much like the idea of him being uncomfortable. Running a hand over his shirt, he smoothed the wrinkles out; everything would always be perfect for his Malik. Content with what he had done, Mariku turned the doorknob to his Malik's room, careful not to make any noise. Walking in and closing the door quietly, it clicked softly shut.

His room was always light. The blinds were up, and light flooded into the room, reflecting off of the whitewashed walls and light blue carpet. It was pretty, but the room was bare, and the walls were stark and undecorated. A few pieces of furniture, but that was it, Mariku having taken the few possessions that Malik had had. That was something that would have to change. This was Malik's home now, and this was his room, not a prison, and he would have lots of things. A T.V.? A radio? Mariku didn't know, but he didn't like how Malik was devoid of possessions, at least, besides his books. It was good that he liked to read, but he needed more things to do, even though he was limited. Until he was able to be trusted, Malik could not leave his room unless Mariku was with him, and that cut down greatly on what all he could do, anyway. Malik really needed to exercise… it wasn't good for him to stay in his room all day, but it couldn't be helped. Malik couldn't be trusted outside. No, not anymore…

Setting his clothes down onto the chair that Mariku sat on when he watched him, he was surprised that when he turned to look at Malik himself, he was still sleeping. He was sleeping a lot, lately, that, of course, coming from being sick, but… it was a little strange. Maybe he was just tired, but for how long? It had been five days, and all he seemed to do was sleep. He was always so tired, and even when he was awake, he seemed lethargic. Was it sickness, or was it that he was still playing depression? Mariku didn't like it, the way that Malik was always depressed, that he smiled less than he normally did. In fact, he did everything less than normal. He hardly talked, he hardly moved, he didn't even yell at him anymore… there was something wrong with Malik, and it wasn't just sickness. It was as if Malik had given up on life…- no! Mariku wouldn't think like that, he was just jumping to conclusions too fast. Yes, and Malik only slept because he had nothing else to do. That was why, that was the reason. There was nothing to worry about…

Running a hand through his hair, Mariku looked down at him. The blankets were hiked up around his middle, his legs bare, having worn shorts, and he was turned partially onto his side. Hands near his head, Malik's mouth was open slightly, and it was times like these that Mariku could pretend that everything was alright, the sad expression completely gone from Malik's face as he slept. He was so beautiful… god, he was gorgeous. And he was so young, too. His Malik had only just turned sixteen a couple of months ago, but that made it all the better. Mariku could take care of him longer, now, and Malik would depend on him more. It didn't matter that he was only just still a teenager, in fact, Mariku loved it. He loved that he was young and that he was still naïve, he loved that his face was so youthful, that he wasn't an adult yet. Malik was his, forever. He was his person that he had to keep away from the world so that nobody could ever hurt him. Malik didn't need school, he didn't need friends, he didn't need to live with society; all he needed was Mariku. Mariku could teach him everything he needed to know. Mariku was all that he needed.

Mariku smiled at this thought and sat down on the corner of his bed near his legs, pulling the blankets back down around him. Watching him for a while, Mariku smiled again when Malik kicked them away. He was so cute…

"Do you really want to show me your legs that badly?" Mariku spoke softly to not wake him, and moved so that he could touch him. "If you show me them, you know that I have to touch them, too." He knew that Malik wouldn't wake up, now, even with him so close. And… even if he did… it was Mariku's right to touch him. Reaching out, he tentatively ran his hand down Malik's leg, flicking his eyes up to Malik's face to see if he felt him. When Malik didn't move, Mariku let go of his breath, the first obstacle over. Making a noise in the back of his throat, he rubbed his legs with both of his hands, loving the feeling of his skin. His legs were smooth and thin, too thin, even. He needed to eat more… Running his palm along the underside of his calf, Mariku reached his knee and moved so that his feet rested in his lap. Pausing, Malik made a noise when he did this, his hands stopping momentarily to watch him cautiously. Malik's eyebrows furrowed and he moaned softly, twisting a little in his sleep, but he calmed directly after. Waiting a couple of seconds to make sure he was truly asleep, Mariku continued touching him.

He loved this, he really did. Malik was all his now, there was no changing that. This boy, this body, this skin was all his. He owned him, and he could touch him as he liked. Leaning over, Mariku's lips ghosted over his skin, and he kissed him lightly at first. Just one kiss, was all, but Mariku was always selfish. Moving his hands so that they held him down, Mariku kissed him again, making a trail up to his ankle, his tongue flicking out periodically to taste him. He couldn't help it, Malik just made him so uncontrollable. Kissing his knee, Mariku wanted to see his thighs, too. It wasn't fair that he could only have this part of his body, and not the rest; Malik was teasing him. Cautiously, Mariku pushed the blankets up higher around his waist, watching as more of his skin was revealed to him. But when the hem of his shorts blocked his view, Mariku sighed. It was okay, though. Mariku could be content with this. Kissing the inside of his thigh as high as he could go, Mariku wanted to make love to him again. He couldn't help it, just being so close to him made him delirious with lust. He wanted it to be soft and slow, and he wanted Malik to be in charge like Bakura would do. He wanted Malik to tell him what to do, and Mariku would happily comply. Of course, that being unreasonable at this point, Mariku would love it just as much if he was the one to initiate everything.

If he would be the one to lay Malik down and touch him, that would be fine. If he would be the one to bring him to orgasm, he would be okay with that. If he would be the one to hold his hand as he moved inside of him, that would be what he had always wished for. He wanted to take him _badly_, it was a need that he couldn't repress. He wanted to be inside his Malik, not the other way around. It had been good, and he had loved it, purely because it was _Malik,_ but he had not meant for it to happen like that. Next time, he would make sure that Malik would be below him, both literal and metaphorical. He wanted to be closer to him, and that way, it would solve all of his problems. Mariku loved him so much.

Kissing his leg one last time, Mariku finally drew away, satisfied. Even the littlest of touches that he could give him would be fine, and more than enough. So long he had gone without being able to be with him, to touch him, that now, everything was increased tenfold. Leaning over him again, Mariku brushed his bangs out of his Malik's face and held his hand next to his cheek. He knew that Malik loved him, there was no question about that, but when would he come to terms with it? He had waited so long, surely he could wait a little longer… But Mariku was becoming impatient. He wanted Malik's love, he wanted Malik to hold his hand and tell him that he loved him and that he was so thankful for everything that he had ever done for him. Having Malik with him didn't end the longing that he held for him.

Leaning his forehead against his Malik's own, he looked fondly down at him. He was so beautiful with his eyes closed and his face relaxed. It felt as if nothing could tear them apart, and it couldn't. This was his Malik who he would have for the rest of his life, finally, _finally,_ and nobody could ever take him away. Kissing him softly on the lips, it lasted longer then Mariku had meant it to, and he had to force himself to draw away. Sitting up, Mariku sighed when they no longer connected. It felt as if he was loosing a part of himself… Moving carefully away, Mariku's feet touched the floor and he left Malik's bed. Hopefully, he would wake up soon, and Mariku wanted everything to be ready when he did.

-

"Good morning, Habibi." Mariku reached out to touch the side of his face, rubbing his thumb over his cheek when Malik began to wake up. He seemed a bit confused at first, and one of his hands moved up to touch Mariku's own, trying to figure out what it was, and it dropped away once he realized that it was Mariku. "Hey. It's good that you finally decided to wake up." Malik opened his eyes and squinted at the early morning light, rubbing them with his arm. Turning his head, Malik dropped his eyes when he saw him, closing them again, a soft sigh emitted through his lips. "No, it's okay. Everything's okay. There's nothing to be upset about…" His voice soft, Mariku smiled down at him, trying to, at least temporarily, cure his depression. "I love you, I love you, Malik." He had to tell him everyday, remind him of his love. Malik couldn't forget it.

It was quiet, then, and Malik's eyes were still closed, his face no longer relaxed as it had been in sleep, but tense and sad. Frowning, Mariku slumped forward, his arms resting on his knees. He wanted Malik to talk to him… "Is there anything you want to do today?" The answer was to be expected.

Straightening up, Mariku sighed. He was being so difficult. Hopefully, it would pass. Mariku loved it when Malik talked to him, when he acknowledged him and accepted him. It made him happy, and it made him appreciate just exactly what he had now, remembering a time when Malik never even knew he existed… And he wanted Malik to love him, even in the smallest of ways. "I have something for you." At his words, Malik's eyes opened, and he looked up; and Mariku was once again breath taken. It was as if every time he saw him, he appreciated him just a little bit more. Malik's eyes were beautiful, and they looked solely at him, his depression clear. His body, too, as he laid sprawled out on the bed that Mariku had bought him, blankets pulled up around his waist where he could easily see his legs, his skin… He loved his skin, as it was the thing that first drew them together. Fate. Their lineage was what had made him love him so.

Shaking his head slightly, Mariku remembered what he had been doing, and reached over to Malik's bedside table. Picking up a glass of clear colored liquid, he handed it to Malik, who took it hesitantly. "It's Sprite. I ran out of Pepsi." Malik frowned a little down at the drink in his hands, tipping the cup so that the ice in it moved towards him, and sighed.

Mariku hated to punish him, even though he reasoned with himself that it was in every way his fault, and that he needed to be taught a lesson. Even still, he didn't like to have Malik not eat, due purely to health issues; he was already skinny enough as it was. A couple days in, though, he had decided that Malik could have pop, since it wasn't food, but put a slight hold onto his hunger. Having watched him for so long, he had learned every bit of tidbit about him, and felt somewhat proud with himself when he brought Malik Pepsi, remembering it to be his favorite drink.

Watching as Malik continued to stare down at the drink in his hands, Mariku left his chair and moved to the side of Malik's bed, leaning a knee down and moving so that he sat on it. "Is it good?" It was a sort of agreement that Malik had made with him when Mariku sat down next to him; as long as he had his drink, Mariku could hold his hand without fuss, even though, he would still touch him even without his spoken consent, anyway. Glancing over at him, Malik lowered the glass from his lips when he had taken a drink from a straw, his face giving away nothing of his answer. Feeling the smallest bit put off, Mariku ignored the feeling and picked up Malik's left hand, holding it in his own. Twining their fingers together, he pulled it to his lap where he stroked it with his other hand, feeling the little shivers that Malik gave. Always scared…

They sat like that for a while, quiet, but Mariku was content. It was nice to have him so close, shoulder to shoulder while he held his hand, tracing over his palm and periodically kissing his arm and shoulder. He wanted him closer, though, much, much closer. But even when he had finally made love to him, Malik was still far away, and it scared him. Mariku wanted them to be closer than skin could allow, and it was as if simple touching was not enough. He wanted to own him, love him, be with him, have him there, close to him, he wanted it all. Nothing was ever enough… Mariku sighed, looking over at Malik who was staring out the window, straw in his mouth as he sipped his drink slowly, little beads of water dripping down the glass onto his hand where it rolled off his knuckles and fell onto the white bed sheets. Staring at the little drops of water seeping into the fabric, Mariku tightened his hand on Malik's, reaching into his pocket with his free one.

"Here, take your pills." Malik's eyes flicked up from his cup back up to Mariku, pausing a little warily when he held out his hand. "Come on, if you still want your drink, you have to take your medicine and get better." Frowning when Malik didn't lower his cup, Mariku grabbed his hand and forcefully closed it around them. He wanted him to get well as soon as possible; Mariku didn't like him to be sick and unhappy all the time. And really, having take only two small capsules of medicine every day was not much to ask.

Pulling his hand quickly away when Mariku gave him his medicine, Malik's eyebrows furrowed and he sighed, taking the cup and straw away from his mouth. Opening his hand, Malik glanced down and stared at the red and white pills that rested in his palm. He did that for a while, and Mariku frowned, not knowing why he was just... looking at them. His face was so despondent... "Malik-" But Mariku didn't need to chastise him, Malik looked away then, and he lifted his hand to his mouth where he swallowed without his drink. Gulping, Malik inhaled sharply when he was done, his eyes downcast. "There, see? That wasn't so bad..." Smiling, Mariku touched the side of his cheek with his knuckles, feeling how Malik shivered at his touch. But Mariku didn't mind; at least it meant that Malik could feel him.

It was quiet again, then, and Malik continued to only stare down at his lap, his drink in his other hand. Shifting besides him, Mariku didn't mind. Mariku didn't mind that Malik was so quiet, that he had lost the spark that he had once had, the thing inside of him that he loved so much, the way that he had been sarcastic and had yelled... As long as he had him, everything was okay. The life in him would come back soon, he was just sick... Loving the way that their legs touched, Mariku moved his arm so that he held Malik's hand once again, twining their fingers together, not minding that Malik's own were lax. This was what he had always wanted, just times like these where he could just simply sit and _be_ with him, where he could touch him and love him, look at him... His beautiful, young face graced with the tiny bit of sadness that he portrayed as he sat right next to him, his true savior.

"Malik…" The morning was off to a good start; Malik had not yet tried to pull away from his touch. "What was your childhood like?" In his hands, he could feel Malik tense.

"Why do you need to know?" Malik's face was turned away from him, and his voice was soft, a whisper almost, but it was sharp and held meaning. This was still Malik.

"Because I love you, and I want to know everything about you." It was true, but there were many other reasons. He had watched him for so long, yes, had learned so much about him, but that was one thing that taunted him. As hard as he tried, he could find little on how his Malik had lived before he had found him, before America. Mariku had to know. "You might as well tell me, Habibi. After all, you will live with me until you die. One way or another, I'll find out, just tell me now. I'd like to hear you talk, and I'm curious. It's not that bad, is it? To just talk…" Maybe it was too much to ask, after all, Malik had spoken only twice since he had been returned. Mariku was just glad that he answered him back.

"…" There was a long period of silence, and Mariku sighed, knowing that Malik wouldn't answer him again, and was surprised when he heard his voice. "…I liked it better back in Egypt." It was Malik's turn to sigh, then, and his shoulders slumped a little, head lowering, still turned away from him. "My mother died giving birth to me, and my father took it really hard. But everything was better, then. I had a lot of friends, Garai and Khepri were my favorite, but everyone was just, so…" Malik paused, and Mariku did not probe as to why. The sole fact that he was talking made him happy. It symbolized his acceptance, perhaps, coupled with the way that he didn't so violently abhor his simple touches as he used to. "…Not like people here. Everyone was nice, and I fit in well. I was just another one of the boys to the adults. Just Malik, they would say, nothing special." Malik's laugh was harsh and sarcastic then, and Mariku sat still, listening to him, not daring to ask questions.

"Almost everyone was really poor, even us, but my father used to work for a company, I don't remember which one…, so we were better off than most, but still we were poor. It was average, I guess, my life… I never really thought much about it. God, I took so much for granted…" Malik laughed again, but it was shakier, and Mariku frowned, not liking the tone of his voice. "I remember this old magazine I used to have, and it was my favorite thing to look at, especially since it was written in English. In school, there was a teacher from America who was funded to teach all of us, and we were taught English everyday. I picked it up fast, and anything that I could read, I got my hands on, since there were never very many books. There was this one page in it, a motorcycle, and it was the only thing that I ever really wanted, even though I knew I couldn't have it…" Turning his head slightly, Mariku could now see his face, his eyes closed. "There were a lot of things that I remember, but I used to get in fights a lot. We all did, actually, and it wasn't any big deal. There just wasn't anything to do, since we lived in a small town outside of Baris, and it was hot, all the time. My father didn't like it, though, and once I got caught fighting, and then… I-I wasn't allowed to go to school, after that. My sister had to teach me, and I wasn't allowed outside, unless it was absolutely necessary. I didn't have friends anymore, and I was no longer 'just Malik'. Then, I was 'what happened to that Malik-boy?'. My father died shortly after that, when I was ten, and then, we left. I had hated him, more than anything, but I was still upset when he died. I don't know why… If I could, I would go back there and leave America. If I had never have left, I would have never met you, and I would still have a life."

"Then I thank your father." When Malik turned to look at him, his eyes were sad, like always, but they held the tiniest bit of hatred, the kind of hatred he had known when he had first taken him. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. Maybe, someday, I'll take you back to Egypt, and then, you won't have to ever worry about poverty." Tightening their hands, Mariku lifted it to his lips where he stopped. "But that was six years ago, Malik. I want you to forget about it all, everything. I'm all that you need now, nothing else. God, I love you…" Closing his eyes, Mariku gently kissed the back of his hand, feeling the way that Malik's fingers twitched as he moved to kiss each knuckle. Letting his eyes drift back open, he watched Malik's reaction, and smiled when he did nothing to retaliate. Malik was better off now, he knew, for sure. Never again would he have to live like he had in Egypt. No, now he had someone who loved him, someone who would give their whole life for him, someone who would give him everything he wanted.

And, Mariku didn't necessarily mind that, after that, Malik's lips stayed closed, and he no longer spoke to him. It wasn't as if Mariku wanted to hear how he had something else he had loved besides him, anyway.

--

**As Mariku becomes increasingly violent while he stalks Malik, so does he in the present, due to his mental instability and anger from Malik's attempted escape. He tries to suppress his anger for the moment, although it becomes harder and harder to do as time progresses. Eventually, he will snap. Malik himself has fallen back into depression, but speaks to Mariku without a fight due to the fact that he needs something, anything, to help relieve him of his current situation. His memories of his childhood's good times are part of what keeps him going, and stops him from giving up. But as Mariku continues to twist his mind and actions, it becomes increasingly more difficult to find reasons why he still cares anymore. Of course, though, he always has his recent memories. Mariku still, though, has no idea that he had been raped as a child. This will come into play later. Greatly.**

**Reviews make me update faster.**


	16. Chapter 16

****

Apparently, ff.horror never sent out a notification that Stalker had been updated last chapter. So if you didn't know, I've written two more chapters. 15, and this one, 16. Joyful day for you. Anyway, in the beginning of this, Mariku is a little kid/toddler/somewhere around five, so if you thought he was still 24, it'd be pretty lul worthy. I mean, more lulzy than normal. Go read your Bronzeshipping fic, you sick freaks. -kidding. KIDDING.- Also, this chapter is about the half way point. After this, it starts to end.

* * *

Mariku hated going on errands. Why should he have to go? It was stupid, someone else should do it. Pouting, he squirmed in his seat and tugged at the seatbelt around his middle. He hated that, too. It was always getting in the way. He shouldn't have to wear it if he didn't like it!

"Are we almost there?" He felt himself scowl a little as he said the words, looking expectantly up at the mirror at the front of the car where he could see Marilyn glance up at him. Marilyn was his care taker who watched over him when his parents were away. Which was…most of the time. But he didn't really care, because going places with Marilyn was fun, and she let him do whatever he wanted, unless he was bad. This wasn't fun, though, today. He hated errands.

"Just a little longer, Mariku." Her voice sounded a little annoyed at his question, and Mariku snickered, knowing the more that he asked it, the funnier her reactions would get. But 'just a little longer' was the answer he always got when he asked how much farther it would be until they got to the store, and he was getting really bored. Sighing exasperatedly, he hit his head against the back of the head rest, moaning when that didn't make the car ride any more fun. Pouting again, he chose to stare out the window.

Even the scenery was boring, with the same old trees and the same old sky, green grass and flat stretches of highway. He wished that he lived somewhere exciting, like…Arizona, where there was desert things and cattle bones all over. That'd be really cool…if he lived in Arizona, he could see the Grand Canyon when he went on errands, or maybe even cowboys. Did cowboys even exist anymore? Mariku looked up to the ceiling of the car, trying to think about the question. Cowboys fought the bad guys and rode horses and had those hats that always seemed so funny. There were tons of bad guys, so, yes, there had to be cowboys in Arizona. He smiled at the idea, moving on his seat so that he could sit cross legged with his feet underneath his legs.

When he got home, he would call his dad and tell him to let him go to Arizona. His dad always let him do what he wanted. He liked his dad a lot, even though he didn't see him much…

"Keep your seatbelt on until the car stops." Marilyn chastised him when they finally pulled into the parking lot, Mariku clicking it open quickly and kicking his feet down onto the floor, anticipating getting out. Ignoring her words, he looked out the window as she looked for a parking space, watching as they pulled up next to a red minivan. "Okay, come on. Out." He needed no further instruction as he grinned and opened the door, slamming it shut once his feet touched the concrete ground.

"What are we buying?" Mariku smiled at the old woman as he walked to the other side of the car and helped get a grocery cart out of the holding space.

"Well, I need to get dish detergent and new filters for the vacuum cleaner. And your cereal, and milk, canned peas, spaghetti, bread, some of those microwavable-" She listed off what needed to be bought as they walked into the store, but Mariku let his mind drift after a while, not _really_ caring what they were there for. All he knew was that the super market was much more exciting then the car.

-

The store was packed with people, and they walked all around him. Mariku liked going places and seeing all of the people there, even if most of them looked the same to him. But it still wasn't all good, because those same people would always stare at him. That was the one thing he didn't like about going outside, it always made him feel different. They would always stare at him, at his skin, and at his hair. Mariku regretted not being born with light colored skin. He _hated_ his blonde hair and his dark colored body. He hated that he was different, he hated that he wasn't normal, and he hated that they would _always _stare. But Mariku didn't really notice anymore, because the stares were now normality.

"I want this!" The snack isle was his favorite, and Mariku raced to pick up a box of fruit snacks to show to Marilyn. Waving it so that she would pay attention to him, he grinned when she picked it up and turned it to the back, setting it in the cart.

"Nothing more, okay?" She frowned at his excitement, but Mariku ignored it, and quickly spotted another box, this time filled with little prepackaged cakes. Setting it in the cart, he looked up questioningly at her, but knew that she wouldn't say no. If Mariku wanted something, he got it.

Frowning when Marilyn took him by the hand so that he wouldn't find anything else to put in the cart, Mariku kicked his feet as they walked down the rest of the isles. He didn't really care much for the dairy isle, or the rows of bread that seemed to stretch forever as he fiddled with his shirt. What he really wanted was to go look at the toys. That was more fun then just staring at the prices on food and comparing them to the prices on other brands. Tugging his hand out of his baby sitter's grip, Mariku twisted the hem of his shirt impatiently when they neared the side of the store that had the toys in it.

Rounding the corner, Mariku could see the action figures placed neatly next to each other on isles upon isles of shelves. Not wanting to wait any longer, he suddenly ran from Marilyn's side, hearing as she called out to him to 'get back here!' Not minding what she said, Mariku grinned when he slowed to a stop in front of the shelves, picking up a package that had lots of little army men in it. The toy was dropped, though, when he saw something else. His eyes widening a little, Mariku moved over to his left, and picked up a different toy, a figure of a cowboy. It was made out of a sort of plastic, but the label read 'fragile'. Mariku wondered if it would be hard to break it.

Running his hands over the smooth surface, he looked at the horse the cowboy was riding. It was brown, with little white specks on it's backside, and had a star branded onto it's leg. Looking glancing up, Mariku smiled when he saw that there was a girl to match the cowboy, but she wasn't riding a horse, just standing there with a pretty bow in her hair and a plain blue dress with flowers decorating the bottom. He could imagine that the girl was the cowboy's girlfriend, and that they had lots of adventures out in the west. Of course, the girl would always get into trouble, but the cowboy would be there to save her, and whisk her away to his ranch where they would wait for the bad guys to come back so that they could beat them up and take them to jail. Turning to go race back to the cart, Mariku reached out to-

"Mariku, put those down! I _told_ you that we just had to get groceries, and then we'd leave." Mariku whimpered unhappily when he felt Marilyn grab hold onto his upper arm, not having realized that she had caught up to him so fast.

"I want these!" Pouting, Mariku started to get angry when she told him 'no.' "But I want them!"

"I'm sorry, Mariku, but I can't buy you everything. Your parents give me a strict budget to stay on for you, and I can't afford to go over it."

"I want these! Then I'll put the fruit snacks back!" Mariku's voice rose as he felt his chest tighten with anger, not understanding why he couldn't have the cowboy and his girlfriend.

Frowning, Mariku reached into the cart and threw his snacks onto the floor, dropping the toys down in their place.

"Mariku, I said no. Now pick those up and put those toys back!"

"No!" Frowning harder, Mariku stomped his foot and refused to put back the cowboy. He wanted it! Nobody ever told him 'no'.

Starting to become even more exasperated with him, Marilyn tried to quiet his little tantrum, watching nervously as people looked over, and picked up the fruit snacks that he had thrown on the floor. Picking up the girl first out of the cart, she tried to put it back, but Mariku grabbed her hand and tried to pull it out. It was unfair! Why couldn't he have them!? He wanted them! Making a protesting noise in the back of his throat, Mariku pulled a little too hard on her hand, and watched as that pretty toy girl fell to the ground and broke into little pieces. She really wasn't made out of plastic, then.

Feeling his eyes start to tear up, Mariku sighed and tried to pick up the little pieces, whimpering again when they slipped out of his hand. He had wanted, her, too, her and the cowboy. He had already made up all the games he could have played with them, but now he couldn't; there was only one of the girls, and the cowboy just wasn't complete without her. Standing up from the squat where he had been trying to pick up the pieces, Mariku silently picked up the cowboy from the cart and placed him back on the rack.

The cowboy looked so lonely without the girl. But she was broken, now.

* * *

He wanted a shower. That was what Malik had thought that morning when he had woken up and not felt his stomach instantly protest. It was as if his mind was numb as he had sat up and made his bed, working without a real purpose, not thinking about anything other than: fold, tuck, and straighten the sheets. Besides, Malik didn't think he could try to do anything other than this mindless task. It would be too hard. Malik could think anymore, it hurt too much… And so Malik didn't think, didn't think about anything, the way that he had been kidnapped, abused, or-… No, Malik just wanted to take a shower. So that's what he did.

It had been a week. And already, his punishment was over. His sickness was gone and the only thing that remained was a disgusting taste in his mouth and in his insides. Malik still _felt _sick, though, emotionally and mentally. He had told him to get better, Mariku had, and had given him medicine to cure his disease. But he had not once tried to cure the horrible despondence that he felt, or the sinking feeling of hopelessness in his stomach.

Pills and medicine is used to help recovery of the body. Plenty of rest and quiet space. Embrace and human contact is what was used to help cure the mind. Touch, love... Mariku gave him that, and yet, it only made him feel more sick... With his 'love' came fear and anxiety. He was overdosing him with touch and feeling, and it was slowly killing him. Malik was alone. Mariku was not human, he was not company.

The water felt good against his skin, Malik decided as he stood underneath the shower head, and he closed his eyes. If he tried hard enough, Malik could imagine that he was at home, safe and secure, and he was getting ready for school. He had fifteen minutes in the shower before he had to dry his hair and get dressed. Five minutes to get something to eat, and twenty minutes to walk to school. The cost of gas was so high now. He couldn't afford to waste it when he could walk. School would be long, but it would be tolerable, because he had lots of friends. Malik felt normal at school, at least, most of the time. The day would stretch on, and the bell would finally ring at the end of his last class, and Malik would take his time going home. There was no rush... But eventually, he would start to feel it. That horrible, terrifying feeling of being watched. He would look around, only to find nobody there, but still he felt that feeling. And it never left him. Malik had never truly been alone.

Crouching down, Malik wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on top of them. He could try and escape from this life through memories and the clinging hope that he would be saved, only to relive the life he had had before. He had felt lost, alone, even though he had been surrounded by people living in the city. There was no one he could have talked to, no one to confide in; he had been told not to tell. His family, his friends... they had all noticed his fear and anxiety, but he couldn't have told any of them. Malik hadn't wanted to risk their lives for something that was his and his alone to deal with. But still, he had fucked up, and now...- he was dead. Malik felt dead, too. He had nothing left to live for. Mariku had won.

Sighing, Malik stared at the shower's wall, watching as droplets of water splattered against the tile and slithered down to meet others, where they met the floor and pooled in a puddle at his feet. Today he would get to eat again, and his empty stomach rumbled a reply at his thought. Why was it that he was so hungry now, when he had went so long without eating before? He had never eaten much, so why did he feel so starved? It was because he had grown to depend on his food, and what he gave him. In the desolate life of his room, he had nothing else other than his books and Mariku's food. They were his source of comfort, the one thing he could hold onto, and he had taken them from him. Malik had nothing now. He hated it, hated him, hated this, and hated himself for feeling anticipation of the thought of being given food and his books. He didn't want to rely on him... But he had grown to, and without the things that Mariku gave him, he had nothing. Malik was even more alone then before.

Staring up at the water spraying down on him, Malik squinted his eyes. He felt a little dizzy, and he had to steady his vision to keep from becoming sick again. He had woken up that morning feeling well, but that did not mean that he was better. ...Better. Malik didn't think that he could ever feel or be well again. No, only his pain would lessen, not leave him. His fear never left him, it was his constant companion.

He could feel this, though, the water and the tile floor beneath his feet. It was a feeling of comfort, just a small bit. The water was warm, the floor cold, and they contrasted against his body. Feelings like these were welcome, and they gave him a temporary relief from his hell. The touch of something lifeless, without harm made him feel safe, and in control; they couldn't hurt him. The touch of water was different then the touch of a person; there was no security there.

Sighing, Malik slowly stood up, holding onto the rail on the shower door to steady himself from the rush of dizziness to his head. Leaning on it for support, Malik closed his eyes and waited for the feeling to pass. Feeling his mind clear, he reached out for the shower knob and turned it off, feeling suddenly cold as a rush of cold air hit him, no longer warm from the water. He was aware, then, of how incredibly naked he was. Malik didn't like to be undressed in this house...

There was steam on the mirror as he opened the sliding door and stepped back into the bathroom, a small puddle of water forming at his feet as little droplets of it traveled down his leg. He shivered, and rubbed his arms, picking up a towel and scrubbing himself down before flipping his hair up and hand drying it with his wet towel. It dropped to the floor when he was done and his hands went lax, feeling suddenly aware of what today meant.

He didn't feel ready to see Mariku, he never did, but especially not today. There was a feeling in the back of his mind that told him to be cautious, to be wary, and to try and save himself from his abuse. It was always there, though, that feeling, and Malik ignored it, but the sense of foreboding didn't leave him. Malik didn't want to have feelings that reminded him of his ever present situation. He just wanted to forget... Something would always happen to him, and it never failed to do so. There was a reason every day he was forced to live in that horrible, suffocating room, to feel nervous and cautious. Today would be no different, this was what his life was made out of now, and he could do nothing about it. After all, he had already tried - and failed.

Starting to become upset with the reminder of what had happened to him, Malik shook his head, trying to get rid of his thoughts. He had to keep on going, keep living, even if there seemed to be no reason... and to do that, he couldn't let himself become depressed. It solved nothing, and only made everything worse, amplifying the terror of his new 'life'. Looking a bit dejectedly up at the mirror, Malik diverted his eyes from his reflection, hating himself for being so skinny, weak. He hated that his stomach caved in slightly and that his ribs showed clear beneath his skin. Even the muscle that he had was starting to become less defined. His arms were skinny and his legs were too thin. The bones at his hips stood out against his frame. Ugly. Malik was disgusting, hideous. He didn't feel like a man.

Men were supposed to be strong and never show their feelings. They were supposed to be in charge and never back down, no matter what the circumstances. Looking back up at himself in the mirror, Malik let his eyes trail up his body and rest at his face where he looked himself straight in the eyes. Malik was none of these things, he was inadequate. It had been his dream as a child to be a man, a real man, where he was strong, rich, and had a wife who would tell him all the good things he was. But he had been young, then, with too many expectations. How would he have known that he would have grown up to be skinny and worthless? He had never even had a real girlfriend… And he had let himself be raped by another man. Nothing about him was right, or masculine. Real men didn't cry. Malik was worthless.

"I hate this."

Malik frowned at himself in the mirror, trying to cure his negative thoughts by talking. He just wanted to hear the sound of his voice, almost in reminder that he was still alive, even if his words only added to his despondence.

"I want to go home."

Looking away one last time, Malik's eyes flicked over to where his clothes laid on the counter. He ran his hands over the blue fabric. His school uniform…

"I want to die."

Picking it up, Malik stared at it, his mind blank. His school uniform. School. Home. His life. Malik felt nothing as he gently unfolded it and put it on. Layer by layer, he began to get dressed. Slide the white undershirt on over his head, button the front, straighten the wrinkles, pull on his pants, shrug on the jacket, and clip the clasp at his collar bone. It was a routine, one that he knew by heart. Feeling the smooth, cold metal of his golden jewelry as he added them last, he looked up at himself once again. And this time, he felt homesickness. He could feel something in his stomach constrict as he looked at himself, a perfect picture of how he had looked every day since he had moved to America. Looking like this, he could forget where he was, what had happened, and imagine that everything was okay. But it wasn't, and that was what hit him hardest of all.

He wasn't home, he wasn't safe, and he would never go to school again. These were the last things he had, the only physical reminders of what had been taken from him. He felt so alone, lost… Hands moving away from his sides, he hugged his chest, squeezing his arms tighter as he felt that familiar prickling at the back of his mind. Depression. It was like something grabbing and pulling him down into despair. His throat tightened up and he stumbled back a little to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his stomach now noticeably empty. The feeling was terrible, of sadness and hopelessness as all he could think about was the fact that he would never see his old life again. He exhaled sharply, trying to fight it. But he couldn't. He never could. Hugging himself tighter, he moved his arms so that he dug his fingernails into his back. He wanted it to stop. He was so scared.

"Somebody, help me."

There was something in his throat that made him cough. It was a pathetic sound.

'_Pathetic. I'm so pathetic. What's wrong with me? Am I so hopeless that I can't even save me from myself? Nobody is going to help me. Nobody cares. I'm alone, all alone. I'm going to die here.'_

Everything hurt in his chest and in his head. There was pain in his back from where his fingernails dug into his skin. His mind felt cloudy, but everything was numb. The only thing he could really feel was the overwhelming despair in his mind, and the way that it took him over in a haze. He was scared, and he wanted to go home. Malik would do anything to go home and live. To just not be able to feel this horrible, sinking feeling.

"I want to die."

His lips were slow to move, and they somehow felt heavy as the words left his mouth. Mariku, Mariku… He hated him. He hated him so much, more than anything else in the entire world. He had destroyed his life and everything that he had. His dark skin and blonde hair and purple eyes… Mariku had even taken his identity. His smooth words and his empty promises. His smiles and his touches. His skin. Malik hated that, the most. He hated it because he was scared of it, of him. Malik had never been scared before, ever. Never _truly_ scared. Mariku was the one who did this to him, who made him weak, who gave him depression, and who had made him less of a man. Everything was his fault. He hated him.

"I wish he would die."

Letting his blonde hair fall damp and limp into his eyes, Malik felt his hands loosen a little. His depression was like a tide. There would be waves of them, stronger as the more he thought. They would wash over him, pull him under, and batter his body with turbulence. With thinking came depression. But then it would pull back, the tide going down as he focused on something else. Hatred. The feeling of hatred always saved him, it was his lifeboat, his savior. Thinking of his hatred for Mariku drew the waves away so that they only lapped up against his feet, the water clear and not murky as it would be before, and he could see clearly down through it to the bottom of the sand.

Looking up, Malik stared at the counter, feeling tired, like he had just put himself through physical exertion, his mind lethargic as he recovered from his emotional trauma. His eyes traced over the patterns in the wood, and he curled his toes against the cool, sand colored tiles. He sat there for a while, not really thinking about anything, just looking at the room around him, and listening to the slow, but steady building of the sound of rain against the window. Sick in bed, he had watched outside as the sky steadily grew darker, and he knew that it would storm tonight. It was comforting, the sound of rain, and he remembered the first time that he had taken a shower here, and how it had rained then, too. That was also the day that he had bit Mariku. Feeling the corners of his mouth twitch up, Malik smiled. And laughed. It was soft, short, but it was still a laugh. It was the first true time he had laughed since he had been here. At least, then, he had expressed his hatred in a productive way.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, Malik felt secure. Just this one time, in this house, he felt okay, at least, a little bit. The clothes around him, the familiar feelings of home reminded him what he was living for, and why he kept the hope of escape. They comforted him as they touched him all around. He felt safe, in the most cynical of ways, like his clothes somehow protected him. His clothes were his home, and there, Mariku could not touch him. Nothing could hurt him. Rubbing his hands over the fabric, Malik looked down at his lap, and knew that today, everything would be okay. At least, his stomach reminded him when it growled, when he was fed.

-

"Good morning, Habibi." Mariku's voice was both welcome and hated at the same time.

Sitting on his bed, Malik had nothing to do but wait for him to come that morning. Time passed slowly staring at the wall. Looking up, Malik diverted his eyes from him as he opened the door, feeling a flitter of sadness in his chest. But the smell of food made him look back up again, repressing the urge to run away. Mariku held a tray of food, not all of it he could make out, shutting the door with his foot. He hated that, that Mariku seemed to feel entitled to see him, to enter his room, his only place that he had, without any sense of regret. Hate. Malik had to focus on that.

"Are you hungry?" The question mocked him and everything that he had gone through, but Malik bit the inside of his cheek to keep from talking back, wishing suddenly that he was still in the state in which he didn't reply. It was a morbid wish, and Malik instantly cleared it from his head. He had made up his mind the day before that he wouldn't give in to his depression, that he would talk and respond to what Mariku asked and told him. Maybe, if he talked with reason, he could slowly become in favor with Mariku, and he could coax him into letting him go. Or at least, gain his trust so that it would be easier to escape. It was a farfetched plain, but he would chance it. Any attempt to leave was welcome with him.

"Are you mocking me, or are you just stupid?" Or that's what he would have said weeks earlier. Instead, Malik kept his voice free from biting words, forcing himself to be somewhat pleasant. "Yes." It was simple, but it would do. Watching as Mariku looked expectantly down at him, Malik added as an after thought, "My stomach hurts."

"Then its good that I came, isn't it?" Mariku smiled at him as he crossed the room and set the plate of food down onto the table. Malik made a move to turn his head and look at it, but Mariku grabbed his chin and prevented him from doing so. He gulped at the feeling of his skin and the way that it made him feel not in control of the situation. "Look at me." His voice demanded his attention, and Malik gave it by flicking his purple eyes up to Mariku's own, hating the way that by doing so, he submitted to him. He just wanted his food back, and he would do anything to get it.

"Do you know why your food was taken away?" Mariku's head was at a high angle, something that made Malik feel intimidated, but his voice was soft and his grip on his chin loosened a little.

"I ran away." His words were spoken stoically. Mariku nodded in approval.

"Yes, but what else?" Mariku moved to kneel so that they were eye level, but he still held onto him, keeping his head in check. Looking around the room, Malik's eyebrows furrowed, and he tried to think of what the words were that Mariku wanted to hear. It wasn't as if he believed that what he had done was wrong, and that it was his fault that he had been punished. He just wanted to feed Mariku what he wanted to hear so that the horrible, empty, piercing feeling in his stomach would leave.

He opened his mouth, to say something, but closed it when he realized that it wasn't the answer that Mariku was looking for. Glancing up to Mariku, his eyebrows stayed furrowed, and he silently asked for a hint.

"You disobeyed me, Malik." His hand left his chin only to travel to the back of his neck where he held him then. "That's what got you your punishment. You directly disobeyed me when I told you not to leave. You have to learn to listen to what I say, Malik. I don't want to punish you, but you brought it upon yourself." Eyes hard, they softened a little as he ran his thumb over the skin on his neck. Malik felt sick again. "Do you understand, Malik? Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes." It was an automated response.

"Good." Mariku smiled so that his teeth showed, and he leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. Gripping the comforter in his hands, Malik stiffened but remained silent, his heart beating faster with fear. Drawing away from him, Mariku sat in the chair next to his bed and Malik instantly untensed. "You know I like to give you things, I'd give you everything if I could, you know. It's just when you do things like this that I can't be easy on you. You know that. But your punishment is over now, so you can eat. I brought you breakfast." Mariku continued to smile, his eyes closed, and he looked up to watch Malik as he reached for the tray of food.

This was what Malik was waiting for, and his stomach growled a reply. Leaning forward a bit to see what was on the tray, Malik frowned when Mariku's hand stopped. "Are you better? You're not sick anymore, are you? You look a lot better today." Looking questioningly at him, Malik frowned again when he realized that he wouldn't be given food just yet. And he had been good, too! He should get his food _now._ Malik scowled.

"I feel fine." He snapped a quick reply at him, eager to be given what he had had taken from him for so long. He couldn't help it, really. Now, the only thing on his mind was food. He didn't even comprehend the fact that Mariku was so close to him.

"Let me see." Mariku reached out for him, and Malik instantly recoiled, remembering who he was with, but Mariku only leaned in farther. Setting his hand upon his head, Mariku smoothed his bangs away from his forehead and rested his hand there. His hands were big, Malik noticed. They scared him. "Your temperature seems fine…" His voice was quiet as he spoke, and Malik shivered as he ran his hand down the side of his cheek, away from his forehead. The feeling of his sliding skin against his own scared him, the way that his hand seemed warm as it traveled down his neck to his chest where it rested on his stomach. Forcing himself to breath calmly, Malik squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered at his touch. It felt like Mariku was much closer to him, was above him, next to him, and around him all at the same time as he ran his hand over his stomach. He didn't understand why this was happening. All he knew was that he was terrified of where Mariku's hand was and how it pet him, owned him. Mariku was in control, he was not. Exhaling, his breath was shaky, and it lifted with a soft shudder.

"You're so thin, Malik." Mariku's voice was soft, and he felt his breath against his ear, making him tense once again, having not known that he had leaned in next to him. "Your body wants me to feed you, Malik. I have to take care of you. I'll take _good_ care of you." He felt Mariku's chest against his arm as he kissed his ear, his hand pulling him a little towards him. Again, Malik was aware of how alone he was as Mariku kissed his jaw and the side of his face. He wanted someone to save him. At any other point, he would have been disgusted at himself for his weak behavior, for giving in so easily. But he couldn't do it anymore. He _had_ tried, and he had been beaten. Malik now dreamed more than ever for salvation; it was his only dream, and his only escape from the feeling of Mariku's lips against him.

"I made you your favorite omelet." Malik hoped he wasn't asking for praise as he drew away back into his chair, watching him warily. But it didn't matter, though, because when Mariku picked up a plate off of the tray, Malik could see his food, and was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. His eyes didn't leave the plate as he reached out for it, and Malik made a sort of growling noise when Mariku caught his wrist. He didn't like the feeling of his hand around his wrist, but the thought was hardly noted, his mind focusing more on that 'the food is right there! I'm so close! Why is he stopping me!? It hurts, my stomach hurts, I'm so hungry… I want my food!'. He tried to jerk his hand away, and reached for the food with his other, but Mariku's voice stopped him in mid motion.

"I don't think you truly understand, Malik." Mariku's voice was harsh and critical as he looked down at him. Malik could think of nothing other than what was being denied from him once again. He paid only the slightest attention to his words. "The reason that I chose to take your food from you as punishment was to show you that, without me, you would have nothing. I give you food and clothes and books, I give you a room to sleep in and a house to keep you warm. Everything that you have, Malik, comes directly from me. I want you to understand this."

"Okay." He didn't understand why Mariku was saying this, or what it could mean. But he was hungry, he knew that.

And again, he didn't understand that while he watched the food on the plate, Mariku's hand held the fork as he slowly cut off a corner of it and lifted it up to his lips. "Then eat it."

His mind didn't comprehend at first what his tormentor could have meant, didn't know why he was- And then he did, and Malik instantly recoiled. "…What? I-I won't-… I won't degrade myself like that." He wouldn't sink so low, humiliate himself like that just for food. The more reasonable part of his mind told him that eventually, Mariku would have to let him eat, and if he refused to let him feed him, it would just be a little longer. But he was so hungry… No. He wouldn't do it. There was no way in hell. Malik would not degrade himself like that just for food.

Mariku's voice was that soft tone again when he spoke, as if he was talking to a child. It was sickeningly sweet, and he hated it. "I know you're hungry, Malik. Just let yourself eat, you're the one who's hurting yourself now as you refuse my food. I'm offering it, just take it."

"No." He wanted desperately to raise his voice and scream at him, to try and get him to understand what he was doing to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk it. Malik was too tired to yell, anyway. "Mariku, please, I'm hungry…" If he couldn't persuade him to reason, he could always revert to pleading. Although, it was almost as humiliating as Mariku feeding him himself, anyway.

"Then eat." Mariku paused, setting the fork back down onto the plate. "I'm trying to teach you, Malik. I want to show you that I am everything you have, and without me, you would have nothing. I give you the food that you eat. By feeding you, you will understand this better. And besides," the corners of Mariku's mouth turned up a little, "I am entitled to do what I want with you, and what I want now is to feed you. If you're hungry, you'll eat."

He stared in horror at him, trying to understand how someone could be so…so… He hated him. He hated him so much. Malik wished he could die. "I'm hungry…" He moaned, resting his face into his hands. This was so screwed up, all of it. By accepting, he would submit to Mariku and show that he could be easily conquered. But hadn't he already shown that, anyway? He didn't want this, he didn't want to give in to him. He didn't want to degrade himself so far. It was humiliating, and it made his stomach churn with the idea. Giving in would be accepting that Mariku was everything that he had named. In the very least, he wanted to scream at him, yell at him, punch him in his face where he mocked him with that horrible smile, but-. He couldn't. Malik let his stomach become him mind. He was just so hungry.

Lifting his head out of his hands, he turned his face towards Mariku. Watching as Mariku slowly began to smile, he parted his lips and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see him as he fed him. He didn't want to watch himself be humiliated.

"Good boy."

Tensing when he felt the fork against his bottom lip, Malik shuddered and opened his mouth a tiny bit wider. His face burned with humiliation as he closed his mouth, clenching the comforter in his hands to keep from moving. Feeling the fork leave him, he moved his tongue tentatively, tasting the little bit of omelet. He swallowed quickly. But that one bite only heightened his hunger, reminded him how horribly empty his stomach was, and his hunger returned in full force from its somewhat dormant state. That one little bite made him remember just how hungry he was, and his stomach growled. It hurt. He wanted more. Malik parted his lips.

Again, Mariku set the fork against his bottom lip, a soft sort of question for entrance, and Malik allowed it. It went too slow, and he chewed quickly, hardly tasting the food as he swallowed. Feeding him so slowly was torturous as his stomach begged him for more, and faster. He was humiliated as he opened his mouth again and let Mariku feed him, wondering how he was letting this happen to himself. '_Because I'm hungry._' he thought to himself. '_Because I'm too tired to fight it anymore_' was what the true reason he felt. After the eighth bite, Malik opened his mouth expectantly again, and was confused when no food was presented to him. Opening his eyes, he looked nervously over at Mariku.

Mariku sat still, plate still in his lap, and stared at him with a sort of calculating expression. Gulping, Malik fidgeted, not liking to be looked at. He didn't like Mariku to look at him like that, didn't like the fact that he _could_ look at him. "Wha-"

"How much do you miss your family, Malik?" Was he stupid?

"I-" What was he to say? The question was so sudden, and it caught him off guard. How much did he miss them? His sister, his brother… They were his only family, they were his _siblings_. He missed them so much, and he wanted to be home with them. But he couldn't… describe it. It was just an ache in his heart that built with every day and the growing realization of what exactly had happened to him. _They were his family._ He needed no other explanation. "…I'd do anything to go home. I'll do whatever you want. I just want to see them again, tell them that I'm okay." He remembered himself saying those words so many times before. He had pleaded and begged to go home, but Mariku had never given in. What was the point in reiterating them now? And why…was Mariku asking? God he was pathetic. He didn't even make sense to himself anymore.

"Why do you miss them so much?" Malik didn't understand the question.

"They're my _family!_ God, what do you want from me!?" His voice was rising, and he was starting to become a bit hysterical. Was he mocking him, taunting him? He couldn't take this! It was too much, just too much. Mariku was truly killing him.

"Sssh, Malik, its okay." Mariku gave his evil smile and reached out to pet his hair, making Malik shudder and shrink back against the head board. At the very least, he did not want to be touched. "You see, I'm going to help you." There was something different in his voice, in his eyes as he spoke. It was smooth and languid, as if he was being drawn into a trap. Setting the plate of food aside, Mariku leaned forward so that his body was touching him, controlling him. Malik was scared. "I'm going to let you send a letter to your family."

He never knew how to deal with these things. But, Malik had learned, and he took Mariku's words with caution. A catch, there had to be a catch. "…Why are you doing this to me?" Malik's words went unanswered as Mariku paused.

"You said you would do anything, Malik. I am going to make a deal with you." Ah. There it was, the catch. But… it was true. Malik would do anything to tell his sister and brother that he was okay. Feeling his throat go dry when Mariku moved to sit next to him on his bed, Malik squeezed his eyes shut and let him hold both of his hands in his own. Leaning in from behind him, Mariku's mouth was next to his ear as he spoke.

"I want you to have sex with me, Malik Ishtar. I want you to listen to what I tell you without a fuss and without a fight. I want you to tell me that you love me while I move _in_ you. You do these things, Malik Ishtar, and I let you tell your family that you are okay."

"…" Malik made a move to open him mouth, to say something, anything. 'You sick bastard! You fucking pedophile! Stop touching me, stop it! Get off of me! I hate you! I fucking hate you! I _hate_ you!' Anyone of those things would have worked, would have expressed his terror at his words. No. The answer was no. He couldn't do that, even for what he would get in return. He wouldn't let himself be raped again for such a small gain. But…what meant more to him? His family… or his safety? Mariku's hands were now much more heinous, and Malik was brought back to his unadulterated fear of being touched. He wanted to be away, right. Now. The words that Mariku had spoken… they… Malik was scared. He felt like crying. Rape. Rape. He had been raped, and Mariku wanted to do it again.

"N-n-"

"And if you don't agree, it will happen anyway. The difference is if I have to tie you up or not. It will happen, Malik. If you say yes, you will get to send a letter to your sister, telling her that there is nothing to worry about, that you are fine and are with someone who loves you. And if you say no, I will be forced to make love with you all tied up. Its your choice; what's your answer?"

It was strange how he seemed so distant from what was happening. He heard the words that Mariku spoke, he felt the fear, but yet… this was just another obstacle. He said he would rape him no matter what his consent. But saying yes and giving in would have him willingly submit to him, to throw away his pride and every fear that he had. What meant more to him? What would he truly sacrifice if he said yes? It would happen either way… Malik couldn't fight back anymore. He was too tired.

"…Yes." This was his descent into hell. This was it. There was no turning back. He would sacrifice his body for this, he would give into his greatest fear. He would do anything to tell his family that he was alright.

He felt Mariku smile beside him and squeeze his hands, whispering little proclamations of love. But he didn't care. Malik wasn't even hungry anymore as Mariku fed him the remainder of his breakfast.

"Mariku, I hate you."

* * *

**Yes. The cowboy and the girl were metaphors for Malik and Mariku. See how original I am? Since Mariku was never denied of anything as a child, this is part of the reason why he feel entitled to Malik, and of course, coupled with the psychological after affects of stalking him. Oh Mariku, you're so screwed up -and spoiled-. LULULLUL.**

**I know I'm quite mean to Malik, but… it all wraps up in the end. All of his 'obstacles' are very important, and it's a necessity that they happen. But I won't say anymore in fear of spoiling it and stuff. Again, this isn't a happy fic, and if you're looking for something with rainbows and smilies and flowers, go read puzzleshipping or something like that. I mean, for god's sake, this is a pairing with Mariku in it. MARIKU. Any 'romance' with Mariku is going to be fucked up like hell. D:**


	17. Chapter 17

**So like, yeah. Aparently, ff.horror was being an asshat and sent out a notification saying that chapter 17 had been updated. THEIR FAULT, NOT MINE. ALL FINGERS SHALL BE POINTED AT THEM, BECAUSE I'M OH SO VERY MATURE. Sorry, again.**

**Before you go read your smut, I realized that since Malik's birthday is in december and he just turned sixteen, and this takes place in April, now, and Mariku had stalked Malik for over a year, that would make Malik fourteen when he had begun stalking him, and Mariku would be around 25/26, so he's even more of Pedo Bear's minion than before. Well shit, Mariku, you sure are fucked up. **

**And yes, there is a reason why Mariku is more cruel this time, and does not think over how much he loves Malik, but moreso how much he loves his body. Also, Mariku is unable to feel guilt for anything he does to Malik. He his mentally sick, partly because of stalking him. He CAN'T feel sorry for him. Stalkers often cannot think of anything other than their victim loving them, and so nothing he does to Malik is wrong, since he loves him, and uses that as an excuse for that it's for his own good. Now read.**

* * *

Life was dull to Isis Ishtar. There was nothing really left to work for, nothing to look forward to, and nothing to remember to keep her going. After all, she had nothing, only the possessions that he had made with her small bit of pay check, and the constant but blatant uselessness of her adopted brother's encouragement. Her friends had told her that everything was okay, that she would get better, but nothing ever worked. She had lost her brother. Malik was gone. Just…gone.

It had been a normal enough day, too little sleep and a too long workday, but she was not expecting the phone call that came to her near closing time. That was the first difference. The second was that the call was not from her landlord or from a close friend, but from Rishid. The third difference was that he was panicked. She hadn't thought much about it, only that he was overreacting about…something. But Rishid was always calm, he never over reacted.

"Do you know where Malik is?"

And that was what started it all. All of the phone calls, all of the contacts to the police, and all of the fliers that had been passed around, now littering the dirty streets of their city. Kidnapped was what had been said, and Isis agreed. A talk with the one investigator they had found able to afford over the habits of Malik, they said it had been a case of erotomaniac stalking, or predatory stalking, which scared her more. And…it made sense. They had explained the symptoms of stalking, and it fit up with her brother perfectly. He had become reclusive, had trouble sleeping, always nervous and always anxious. His grades had dropped and he had broken down more than once in front of her. Low self esteem the doctor had said. Isis did not buy it.

But with no proof, they had no leads, and no where to go. At first, she had hoped that he was merely being like most teenagers were, and had tried to make it on his own, only to learn that he was naïve, and would come home soon. After that didn't work, she had hoped that it was a misunderstanding between the kidnapper and his victim. Maybe he was just caught in the middle. But when a month had passed by and her countless phone calls did nothing, she had given up hope. Until she found the letters.

They were hidden well, inside a folder of all of Malik's old test papers behind boxes in his closet, found only out of a necessity to clean out Malik's room; push had come to shove, and money could be made if there was room to rent out, even if she hadn't planned on actually doing it.

Opening them at first, she had thought that they were love letters, and was disgusted when the content was more than simply that. The letters… everything in them explained what had happened, and there was no way to describe the pain she felt at the idea of what her brother must have been suffering through, and that she had not helped. It was sick, the idea that someone had done this to Malik, that they had watched him, stalked him for so long. Because they dated back for farther than a year. There were threats, but with just as many, there were twisted words of love, not all soft, but sexual as well, describing all of the things that he (the person who was obviously male) planned to do with him and to him once they finally met. They were devious, and Isis could not get over the fact that some of the earlier ones had been sent before his fifteenth birthday. And then they spoke of meeting.

The man had wanted Malik to leave home and meet with him at his school, where he wouldn't need to pack, because he would buy him whatever he needed, Isis understanding where all of the extra money had been coming from. And that's where it ended, those same three initials at the bottom of every letter. She had assumed that Malik had disagreed with him, that he had refused to give into him, and Isis smiled through it all. He had always been a fighter, and not just figuratively.

A call was made to the same inspector that they had hired before, and the letters were handed over, photocopies made for her incase she figured anything out. And then all that was left to do was wait, that was, until the anticipated call was returned. Leaving work early, she rushed home as soon as she could, out of breath when she finally opened the door to their apartment, Rishid looking over at her with an amused expression on his face.

"Ri-…shid…" She panted, dropping her coat to the floor and gulped, grabbing a breath. "Rishid, they think they have a lead."

The last difference was the feeling of hope.

* * *

He loved him. He was all he had, all he needed. Malik…Malik was his everything. He was what he relied on to keep him living, and if he didn't have him, well, then-. Mariku had lived without Malik before, had lived watching him without being able to give him his love, to show him how much he needed him, how much _Malik_ needed him. That point in his life had been a void. He had him now, though. He had everything he wanted.

So why did he feel empty?

Love.

He had shown that to him, given it to him.

Did he love him back?

Of course he did, he had to. Mariku deserved it.

What if he didn't?

Then he would go to any means necessary to make it so he did.

Mariku would do anything for his Malik.

But…hadn't he already done enough? He had gone through so much trouble just to make his first time be the best he could, and he had repaid him by leaving. Mariku had given him his love, and he had betrayed him. He would not let himself be betrayed again. There would be no romance this time, no preparation. Tonight, he would live solely for himself, and for the part of Malik that he knew loved him back. Whether or not he chose to accept him was now all up to Malik. Mariku had done his part.

-

The doorknob was cold as he felt it gripped in his hand. Cold, lifeless, unresponsive. A contrast to his warm hand. His feet were deadweights then as he stood outside Malik's door. A twist was all it would take, and he could touch the object of what he coveted so much. Just a small twist, a push, and he would have him underneath him, moaning and sweating and begging for him. Mariku tightened his hand. He needed this night, just as he always did staying up, thinking about him, how easy it would be to just give into his thoughts and take him by force. But this wasn't force. Malik had agreed. He wouldn't sleep alone tonight.

He felt no repercussions, no guilt plaguing his mind about what he would do shortly, or how he would go about doing it. This was what needed to happen, for him, for Malik. They needed to touch, they needed to be closer then they were in the day. Still with the same feeling of nervousness, Mariku exhaled sharply and slowly twisted the knob, knowing that his anxious feelings would be gone soon once he had him in his arms. Keeping his eyes downcast, Mariku didn't look up until the door was wide open, and he was all the way inside his Malik's room.

"…Malik."

There was something so innocent in his posture as he sat in the corner of his white room, knees against his chest, head in his arms. It made him look so very small, helpless, defenseless… Mariku wanted to hold him and keep him forever looking like that. Clearing his throat, he repeated his name, and when he once again did not get a reply, he quietly crossed the room to kneel in front of him.

Reaching out to gently stroke the sides of his arms, Mariku smiled when he coaxed him to lift his head up. "I love you." The words were familiar on his tongue, and he sighed when they left his mouth, feeling complete with them. As always, Malik was sad, and he could clearly see the fear in his eyes as he shifted closer to him. Mariku was torn between both loving and hating his expression. "You know how much I love you, and how many times I could say it. But I want you to listen to me." Moving his hands off of his arms, he held his head in his hands, and steadied him when he tried to shake away. "I want you to listen to me tonight, when I say it." Frowning the tinniest bit, he rubbed his thumb against his cheek, trying to calm his fear. Malik looked so pretty then (as if he didn't always), with his eyebrows furrowed and his blonde hair framing his face, the rain splattering against the window, a backdrop to his beauty.

"You act as if I have the ability to _not_ listen to you. As if I had the choice…" Malik looked away, his head to the side, but Mariku wouldn't allow it, and forced him to look at him again.

"Listening and understanding are two different things." He wasn't supposed to be getting mad now… Mariku was supposed to be loving him. "You do have a choice, you've always had a choice, and you've chosen to ignore me. But it's okay, just a little more time and you'll realize everything I've done for you."

Malik's lips remained still, his expression cold, hateful, fearful, the later showing through the most. Rubbing his thumb along the side of his face a little longer, Mariku stood up slowly, hoping that Malik would do the same. He had to listen to him, after all. He agreed to listen to him. And what Mariku wanted right now was to move him to the bed. But when Malik refused to do the same, and continued to sit with his back pressed up against the corner, Mariku frowned at his disobedience.

"Stand up, Habibi."

There was no reply, and he made no move to obey him.

"I told you to stand up." He was starting to get angry, now.

The only reply was Malik shifting closer to the wall, a small whimper when he wrapped his arms around himself.

"Malik, stand up!" He didn't mean to yell. Honestly, he didn't, but he couldn't help it when he was ignored.

Malik merely lowered his head and tightened his arms around himself.

"Malik…" Clearing his throat, Mariku forced himself to speak in the tone that he often used on Malik. Quiet, soft. "You agreed to this, Malik. It's going to happen. Stand up for your sister, for your brother. Stand up and come to me." His reaction was visible when he said this, and Malik looked up sharply, horror now accenting his fear. He looked to the side, beginning to clench and unclench his hand. Making a move to remind him to stand again, Mariku stopped when Malik finally looked back up him. Again, fear. Fear as he slowly unwrapped his arms from his legs. Fear as he lowered his head and stood up against the wall. Fear as he was reminded that he didn't only just have to stand, but _come._

"Just come to me." Gesturing with his hand, Mariku smiled softly at his boy as he stood cowering against the wall. It wasn't as if Malik really needed to come to him, Mariku just liked watching him struggle with his fear to obey his commands. What mattered more, being touched, or his family?

A tentative step towards him, and Malik paused, seeming to regret his deal and what he would put himself through.

"Your family, Malik." Just a small reminder.

The words worked, and another step was taken, closing the distance between them. He was in arms reach now, and he could easily reach out and bring him to himself. But the one last step was what meant everything; Malik would be the one to approach him first. Throwing away any fear that he had, Malik was like a man walking to the noose, resigned to the fate that he was sure to have as he took that one last final step.

Mariku felt complete as he wrapped his arms around him, hugging him to his chest tightly, not daring to let go. Malik jerked sharply away when he did this, but Mariku refused to let go and give up what he loved so much.

"You smell good."

It was a sort of silly thing to say, but it was the truth as Mariku moved his face so that his nose was near his hair. He was so intoxicating, a drug, and Mariku wanted more of him. A drug addict with a fix. It didn't really matter that Malik was shaking softly up against him. Moving one of his hands to the back of his head, he held him in place as the other traveled slowly down his back, curving to feel every part of him, stopping to rest on his bottom where he squeezed lightly. Malik gasped as he did this, but it quickly turned to a whimper as he tried to pull away.

"Ssh, it's okay. You know I won't hurt you."

He was reminded then of how young his Malik was as he stiffened against him, whimpering at his touch, how he was the first person to ever touch him like this. Most people would say that Malik was too young, that it was too early to make love to him, but none of them knew the truth, how much Mariku loved him. He was ready to take the responsibility of having sex with him, as he had already done so once before. But this time was what really mattered, when Malik would be beneath him, not the other way around.

Grabbing at him a little rougher, Mariku stroked his hair, trying to calm him and the way that the little trembles he gave increased at this. God, he was so beautiful. He felt so good against him, warm and alive. And he was his. He was his to touch and kiss and love… Reluctantly, he moved his hand away from the spot that he had been groping before to somewhere different. His side now as he felt him there, running his hand all up and down his shirt, wishing it to be gone. Malik relaxed against him when he touched him in a new place, even if he still remained ever tense, seeming to just be glad to not be touched there. Mariku smiled. He was such a virgin.

Stepping back suddenly, Malik fell against him a bit, not expecting the sudden change from their position, something that Mariku found extremely cute. Trying to pull away again as he began to walk backwards, Mariku turned them around so that he walked forward and Malik walked back, rendering him unable to pull away as he pushed him towards the bed. The position was better like this, anyway. It reminded him that he was in control.

"Ah-!" Malik gasped when the back of his knees his the side of the bed, making them buckle instantly in an automated response. Holding onto his arms, Mariku let him down gently, pushing him over a bit so that he straddled his hips.

"Don't make noises like that, you make it seem as if I'm forcing you." Grabbing one of his arms, Mariku lifted his hand to his mouth, watching Malik's expression to see his reaction as he kissed his palm. Malik winced, flinching back a little, trying to jerk his hand away, but Mariku held it to him. Always scared, always trying to get away…

"M-Mariku, I can't do this, I-"

"Then sit still while I go get rope, because I'm not letting you run away anymore." Kissing his knuckles, Mariku made a move to portray that he was serious, and smiled when Malik stopped him.

"No!-" Moving his hand that Mariku was holding, Malik grabbed onto his wrist, holding him tightly so that he wouldn't do as he said he would. His expression again horrified, Malik's eyes were wide as he pleaded with him. "Please, not that, don't tie me up."

Moving his arm so that he held Malik's wrist as well, Mariku pulled him towards him as he leaned in, their faces close. "Then will you listen to what I say?" Matching Malik's now quiet tone of voice, Mariku moved his face so that his lips were next to his cheek where he was eager to kiss him. Shuddering, Malik stayed still as Mariku's free hand wandered between them, groping his chest.

"Please…please don't do this to me." Malik's voice was breathy as his hand ran over his nipples.

Becoming angry at his retaliation, Mariku frowned and twisted his wrist sharply, bringing forth another gasp from his boy. He wanted submission, he wanted him to comply. Mariku was growing tired of him always, _always_ going against his wishes. All Mariku wanted to do was to love him. He took his gasp for a sign of agreement.

Running his thumb over the underside of his wrist, Mariku silently apologized for being rough with him, even though he knew that Malik deserved it in every way. Becoming tired with touching his chest, Mariku wanted his shirt gone so that he could appreciate him fully. Wanting to test his obedience anyway, Mariku pushed him down against the bed, moving him so that his legs were off the floor and so that his head rested against the pillows. Not surprised when Malik made a move to sit up again, Mariku placed his hand on his chest and swung his leg over Malik's own so that he was above him, dominant.

"Lie down." It was a simple test of his obedience, but it made all the difference if he listened or not. If he did so, he would let himself be touched. Willingly.

Malik's inner turmoil was clear as he looked pleadingly up to him, but no sympathy or mercy was given. He wouldn't get out of this situation. He needed it, _they_ needed it. Moving his arms so that they supported him, Malik diverted is eyes, and slowly lowered himself down so that he laid flat against the bed.

Smiling in satisfaction, Mariku leaned back so that he could look down at the boy beneath him. It was the mere thought of it, that he was going against everything that he felt and believed in for Mariku's sake, to throw away all of his fears and let himself be naked, both figuratively and physically, just to say 'I'm okay', a martyr, that made him hard, and Mariku groaned, reaching down to trail his hand up his too-thin stomach. God, how could he do this? He was already hard, he wouldn't be able to last long, and he had just started touching him, too…

"Let's talk about our future." His voice a bit husky, he looked down at Malik's perfect eyes and smiled, lettings his fingers play with the hem of the shirt and slowly stroke the first bit of skin that was found. Even this touch, just that small little area that they connected, made Malik uneasy, and his eyes closed out of fear, turning his head away to face the window where the rain hit against it softly. But Mariku didn't care, he would let him just this time to turn away, because he didn't need his support, all he needed was his body and for him to listen.

"I've been thinking about teaching you the rest of what you needed to learn from school myself." Lowering himself onto his forearms above him, Mariku kissed his exposed neck gently, earning himself one of Malik's scared little noises. "Only if you want, though. Since you're mine, I don't think that it's completely necessary. After all, you don't have to worry about anything you don't want to, like a job. I'm going to take complete care of you, you don't need to work." Moving his head a little to the side, Mariku continued to kiss his neck slowly, his nose brushing past his jawbone as he kissed the underside of his chin. Beautiful Malik…

"I think that…someday, I will have to let Bakura leave." His hands felt lonely with his Habibi right next to him, yet not touching. Leaving one arm to support him, he let his other hand travel backwards to his stomach where he had neglected to worship properly. Easing his fingers under his shirt, they did not stop at the first feeling of skin, and continued to travel up his torso, bringing the bottom of the shirt with them. Once they reached their destination on his chest, Malik gasped and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at him before quickly squeezing them shut again. "Then we'll be all alone together and it will be perfect. I'm going to get a day job soon, I think, and when I come home, I'll have you waiting and ready for me." Smiling against his skin at the idea, Mariku moved his hand gently against his chest, just touching and trying to get Malik to calm, to prepare him for the other touches he planned on giving him.

"You'd be older then, not a child anymore… I think I'll miss that. I love you just how you are, now, helpless and young, a virgin, so much that I wish I could keep you like this forever." Fuck, even his words were making him hard. He wanted Malik so bad, to feel Malik all around him, to hold him as he made love to him… he really couldn't last much longer. "I'm going to take you everywhere, give you everything, and I'll always be able to say 'this is My Malik, my beautiful Malik who I love so much' because I'm complete with you. And, in the future, I'll be able to say 'this is my Malik, who I made love to, who I moved inside of and watched as he gasped beneath me, begging me to touch him, who moaned for me to go faster, and which I gladly complied' and that would be the truth, too."

He was tired of talking now, he could talk later. What he needed to do now was to touch and kiss and love, and it was hard to do when his mouth was busy with words. Giving into the feeling of wanting to lick him, Mariku let his tongue drag slowly across his neck. He was so intoxicating, the things that Malik did to him were unbelievable, something only a bit short of euphoria. Licking his neck again, Mariku could feel him shudder softly as he stopped to kiss him where he had just been loving on him, sucking softly to bring blood to the top of his skin. The very _taste_ of him was more than he could handle, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to do it much, Mariku's hand left his Malik to rub against his pants, trying to get rid of that horribly wonderful feeling of aching pleasure. His lips leaving his neck, he kissed him gently where he had made his love mark, moaning against him in pleasure as the movement of his hand increased, wanting his pants off, and Malik's as well.

He could feel Malik against him, his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat, his warmth, his breath on his face when he moved to kiss him near his mouth. It made him hurt, how much he loved him, to have him so close to him, underneath him, and he needed him so much. Mariku moaned when he stopped the motions of his hand, already missing it, but he knew that he couldn't reach climax yet with both he and Malik fully clothed. Letting go of a heavy breath, he took his boy's chin between him thumb and forefinger, turning his head so that he was forced to look at him instead of staring out the window.

"Please, Mariku-"

The words that he spoke were never ones that he wanted to hear, but even Malik's pleading couldn't bring him off his high of feeling, and he quickly quieted him by kissing him for the first time that night. Malik shifted underneath him, moving his legs trapped between his own in a pitiful attempt to get away, and continued to make small, little scared noises as he licked his lips.

"Open your mouth and kiss me back." Mariku would use his forced cooperation to its fullest extent.

Looking at him with another pleading expression, Malik shuddered and looked away quickly to the door, flicking his eyes back to him. Did he think the door held a hope of escape? Did he think that he could leave if he grew too uncomfortable with what Mariku planned to do to him? There would be no escape. Mariku would not let him go until they had sex long and hard. Rolling his bottom lip underneath him thumb, Mariku was pleased when he slowly parted them on his own.

"You're such a good boy."

Leaning down, he kissed him quickly and softly before pulling away and repeating again, teasing him without a real kiss, making Malik shift underneath him in frustration and nervousness. Mariku let go of his chin and placed his hand underneath his head to hold him in place, deciding not to tease him any longer. Leaning down again, he kissed him hard and rough, earning a surprised gasp from Malik. It was better this way, because he could act as he wanted with him, liking the way that Malik tried to pull his head away, but was trapped. He could feel Malik hit his side, trying to get him to stop as he continued to roughly kiss him. That was the wrong choice on Malik's part.

"Didn't I tell you to kiss back?" His voice was heavy and his breath was hot as he finally drew away, licking the side of Malik's cheek. "I don't appreciate you hitting me, either. For that," smiling at Malik's scared expression, Mariku fiddled with the bottom of his Malik's pants, "I want you to kiss me first."

There was always that look of internal conflict when Mariku held onto their bargain and told him what to do, knowing the consequences if he didn't. Malik's heart was beating faster as he leaned his chest onto him to feel it and was amused when he learned so. Always scared. Drifting his fingers underneath the fabric of his pants, Mariku was surprised when Malik lifted his head up to kiss him quickly and awkwardly. Did he think that kissing him would take his mind away from reaching his hand into his pants? Mariku laughed internally.

"Habibi, do you call that a kiss? I want to feel your lips on mine for something longer than just that. But I'll be quick. I don't plan to just kiss you all night." Mariku vaguely wondered if Malik could feel his erection against his leg and groaned a bit at the idea. He resisted the urge to rub against him to help with the feeling. "Come on; your sister." Tapping his lips with his finger, Mariku began to unbutton the first part of Malik's jeans. Expression turning horrified and lost, Malik grabbed the upper part of his arms, making him smile, anticipating what he would do next. Searching his eyes for some sort of pity, Malik sighed looking away before slowly looking back up at him. Hesitant and shaky, Malik finally complied, sitting up only a fraction so that his lips tentatively touched his own.

It was soft, tentative, just like a virgin, but Mariku was happy, and kissed him softly back. He could feel Malik's fear, it always being there, but it was heightened as Mariku pushed back against him, the tip of his tongue running along his lip. Malik was almost unresponsive against him, kissing him in only the minimalist way that would still keep him in good favor. It was probably too much for him, an overdose of feelings and touch, but Mariku didn't think he could stop if he wanted to, and gently slid his tongue into his open mouth.

Malik's eyes were wide and he protested against him, the sounds muffled, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, kicking his legs to try and get away. Holding onto his head harder, Mariku reveled in his pitiful noises, how he had caused them, and tasted the inside of his mouth. It was hot, which was instantly apparent from the second that he had pushed his tongue into his mouth, and felt his erection throb in want when he rubbed Malik's own tongue. Malik instantly froze up, allowing him to curl his tongue around his, accenting his domination over him. Not wanting to draw away, Mariku felt lost as he did so, wanting to continue kissing him forever. A little bit of Malik's spit remaining at the corner of his mouth, Mariku smiled and wiped it onto a part of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up making Malik shudder.

"You're doing so good, my Malik. Should I reward you for your good behavior?" Looking down at him when he sat up, Mariku sighed at his expression when he spoke. "I'm doing this for you, I'm going slow for you, to let you slowly accept and get used to my hands on you. If I was living solely for myself, I would have taken you by now, on your stomach, and nothing would be soft and slow. Don't act as if I'm out to hurt you, you know it's not true. I love you so much, would I ever hurt you? _Have _I ever hurt you?"

It was a rhetorical question, and Mariku waited for a reply, cutting Malik off when he opened his mouth. "When I choose to reward you, I will be soft and loving, nothing I haven't been already. There's nothing to be scared of other than your own fear, and I won't be hindered by it." Frowning, Mariku sighed again at Malik's despondency, and moved off of him so that he was laying beside him, not sitting above him. Malik stiffened instantly and shifted away, but Mariku had expected his reaction, and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight against his chest. Moving his hand so that it rested above his heart, Mariku moved his head so that his lips were next to his ear.

"I love you so much, Malik, more than you'll ever know." His chest hurt with longing as he held him, tightening his hold on him more, hating how even though they were so close, he still felt alone. "I will be the only one to ever touch you again. It's okay. It's okay, Malik, you don't have to be scared of touch. What I do to you, the way that I touch you… I do it because I love you. Love, Malik. There's no reason to be scared."

Pressed up against his back, Mariku closed his eyes. It felt good to lay with him like this, quiet, listening to his erratic heart beat and breathing, just short of hyperventilation. He'd had him for a month and a half. He'd introduced him to touch for so long, touched him everyday… Why was he still so scared? How many times had he proclaimed love to him? Why? Why?

"Let's just do this." Mariku was surprised when the voice was not his own and opened his eyes in curiosity. Rubbing his hand over his chest in acknowledgement that he had heard him, Malik took in a shaky breath. "Just hold me tonight. Please, just stay like this. Keep your arms around me, don't let go. Please just hold me…"

Malik turned his head to look at him, sadness and fear clear in his eyes, but other than that, he had calmed considerably. His breathing was steady and his heart rate had gone down. Mariku smiled softly at him and moved his head to kiss him on his cheek when he did this. But Mariku saw through his attempted manipulation.

"Would you like me to hold you all night, Habibi?"

"Yes." His voice was shaky.

"Do you want to stay in my arms?"

"Yes." He had forced himself to keep a straight tone.

"Do you think that playing off of my love for you will keep you from being touched?"

"N-" His eyes were scared again, and Mariku felt no pity for him.

"That was underhanded, my Malik. I think you're ready to be let go."

"No!" Malik's eyes widened drastically, grabbing onto his hands to keep them around him and prevent him from letting go when he tried to do so.

"I'm ready to move on, and being lied to does not particularly make me want to consider what you had said." Becoming frustrated when he tried to move his arms away and Malik kept them wrapped around him, Mariku jerked back. "I want you to take off your clothes."

"No!" Malik had begun to become hysterical, clawing at his hands and arms, trying to keep a better hold on him so that he would not let go and begin preparing him for sex. "Please, please, Mariku! Don't do this to me, just stay here! M-Mariku, don't! Stop, just stop it, please just stay, just hold me! Hold me!"

Was it cruel of him to deny him what he begged of? Was it unloving when he wrenched his hands away and held him down as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off, doing the same to his shirt? Was it hypocritical of him to speak of love when he ignored Malik's begging to stop when he had him completely naked?

No.

It wasn't, it couldn't ever be.

Mariku loved him, he was justified.

"I've waited to do this to you for so long, you know." Mariku's smile was cruel as he looked up to him from between his legs, wondering when his familiar tears would start to fall. He was so predictable. "I gave you romance the first time, I went slow for you, too, just as I did tonight, but still you refused to accept me, and so I never got to fully appreciate your body. I planned on doing this to you the first time, but you stopped me."

"Mariku, Mariku, just list-"

"Listen? Listen to _me_, listen to what_ I_ say, what _I_ tell you to do." He frowned, keeping his eyes on him as he kissed the inside of his thigh. Another shudder, another whimper. "I'm telling you now to moan when I say to, to feel me touch you and vocalize properly."

There was confusion and rejection on Malik's face when he said this and he purposefully pursed his lips shut so that no sound could escape. It was ignored though, as Mariku knew that he would understand soon enough, and parted his thighs with difficulty when Malik struggled to keep them together. But he knew the deal they had made and did not struggle to get away when he kissed his leg closer to his hip.

Maybe it was that Malik had assumed that his mouth would have moved to his flaccid penis instead of that tight ring of muscle, but he did get an audible gasp then, but more so out of surprise than pleasure. He had to keep his thighs open as he pushed his tongue into him as Malik sat up and tried to keep him from doing as he planned. But as always, he knew the rules, and Malik forced himself to lay back down, picking up his previous hyperventilation.

"It's…" Malik's legs trembled, and his now naked chest rose and fell quickly. "…I-it's dirty, don't do this, please, stop, it hurts."

Please… Mariku had heard that word many times that night. Please, stop, don't, no; they were all negative.

"There's nothing about you that's dirty. What's dirty is what you think about yourself." Moving his head momentarily away from between his legs, Mariku was disappointed in the fact that Malik had not yet gotten an erection. After all, even if he claimed to hate him and his touch, sex was sex, and it was pleasurable. "And it doesn't hurt, my tongue isn't that big, so just lie back and close your eyes. Enjoy it."

"I-I can't enjoy it…" Malik's blonde hair was beautiful against his dark skin…

"Then keep your mouth shut and be quiet." Words cruel and spoken sharply, Mariku had become gradually angry at him, wishing for cooperation and words of love, not back talk and objections. If he could not have his love, then he could at least have his body. Without anything more to say to him, Mariku resumed touching him intimately like he had before, thrusting his tongue into that small hole, feeling how Malik clenched around him.

He liked this feeling, of having power over him, where he did not have to use force to have Malik obey him. And he didn't. Malik was relatively quiet as he moved his tongue in him, whimpering every now and then and exhaling loudly every so often. Malik's virginity was taunting, and Mariku could feel himself becoming hard again after loosing his erection previously. If he felt this tight around his tongue… Mariku wondered how tight he would feel when he finally took him. And he was tired of foreplay now. He was tired of just touching and not doing. He was tired of Malik keeping him from making love to him. He wanted him now, and so he would get him.

Drawing away suddenly, Malik opened his eyes halfway to look up at him, fearful of what was next. It was beautiful as his eyes widened fully in fear when he lifted the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, guessing what was coming next. And it was beautiful when he made small, terrified noises as he undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. He had never seen true beauty before when he saw the look of abject terror upon his face as he rid himself of his pants and underwear.

"Do you understand how much I love you?" Malik was motionless as he crawled over from him, brushing a piece of bangs from his face, his eyes never leaving his erection. "This is how much I love you, what all you mean to me. When I put it inside you, you'll finally know. Part your legs, Malik."

As he leaned farther down to kiss him on the cheek, Mariku could feel Malik's hands reaching up to push softly against his chest, his terror still muted. It was ignored, though, and Mariku kissed him again, on his neck, the only thing keep him from moving his hands down to his need being the thought of what was shortly going to happen.

"Mariku, I can't do this." Malik's voice was steady and calm, reasonable.

"Yes you can, I'll help you through it. You'll be moaning soon enough, anyway." A kiss underneath the side of his chin, and Mariku moved Malik's head to get more access at his skin.

"No, I mean…I can't do this. I quit."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Mariku moved away from him to look at his Malik directly. "You can't quit, we had a deal; think of your family. Now do as I told you to do and open your legs for me." Confused and frustrated at Malik's words and coupled calmness, he stroked his knee, trying to coax him into doing what he asked of him.

"Mariku, it's off - I quit. There is no deal. I want to stop. Now." Malik looked sadly up at him, and pressing up on his chest further, he sat up, moving himself out from underneath him, a resigned expression on his face. And Mariku was motionless as he did so.

He…quit? He wouldn't go through with it anymore? The deal was off?

No.

N-No.

No.

Those just weren't the way things worked.

Having moved away from it only seconds before, Malik's head was back onto the bed, his face pressed into the pillow, Mariku's hand on the back of his neck, shoving him down.

"Quit!? QUIT!? YOU CAN'T FUCKING QUIT!" Oh, he was mad now, so very, very mad as he heard Malik scream and struggle underneath him. But he had earned it, and he pushed him harder into the pillow. It was his own fucking fault. He should have listened. "Don't you _dare_ sit up and try to walk away from me! You listen to what I fucking say! You're not going to ruin this time, too, you little fucking liar! You agreed, and you're damn well going to go through with it!"

If he wasn't careful, he could suffocate him, but so long as he still thrashed and tried to hit him, he was alive.

"This is your last shot, Malik! I'm so fucking sick of your behavior; if you don't lie down and take it without objection this time, then I swear to god, you will regret it." Letting go suddenly, Malik gasped for breath, gulping air in like it would be the last he ever breathed. His hands were quick to massage his neck, coughing and sputtering. Bringing his knees underneath him to curl up and dry sob, Mariku watched it all, knowing that it was just another show to try and get his sympathy. If this was what it took for Malik to understand his love, then so be it.

"Get on your back and lie down." Malik's crying stopped with the sound of his voice, and although he paused for a while, he was quick to obey him.

Nodding in satisfaction when Malik did as he had told him, Mariku moved to stroke his neck softly, loving the way that he looked so petrified at him. "Don't look at me like that." Again, his commands were quickly obeyed, and Malik shut his eyes.

"Good boy, but I'd rather have you watch when I make love to you." Listening to him once again, Malik opened his eyes to look at him, not trying to hide the fear on his face.

Moving down to an area near his waist, Mariku was surprised when he was still as hard as ever, groaning when he brushed his hand against himself. Ignoring that feeling of want, he picked up the bottle that he had taken out of his pants pocket before throwing them on the floor. Lifting it up eye level to himself, Mariku glanced back down at his Malik, beautiful Malik.

He had bought the lubricant when he had watched him, and had kept it in his pocket whenever he had gone out, just in case one day, he would find himself in a situation that allowed him to make love to him. But more than anything, it reminded him that someday, he _would_ make love to him. Mariku was happy when he realized that he had kept that promise to himself. Smile remaining on his face, he closed his eyes as he twisted the cap off, pouring a bit onto his fingers, and making another puddle of it on Malik's caved in abdomen.

"You're such a virgin, Malik." He made sure to keep his voice loving as he pressed the tips of two of his fingers against him, eyes narrowing at the fact that Malik's own still remained on him. "I'll try to go slow."

He was once again tight as he pressed his fingers into him, Malik gasping and biting his lip at the uncomfortable feeling. But so long as he wasn't complaining about hurting, it was fine. Promising to go slow but anticipating what would come next, Mariku paused when his fingers reached the knuckle, looking back up at Malik's expression. Seeming to be fine with the physical part of what Mariku was doing to him, he smiled at his flushed, terrified face, and moved his fingers out suddenly to thrust them back into him. He'd done this many times, preparing his partner for sex, and he knew how long it took, and how much. Scissoring his fingers against him, he added a third, noticing how Malik clenched around him in discomfort. Continuing the thrusting motion of his fingers and dragging them into that puddle of lubricant he had poured onto Malik's stomach every so often, Mariku grew tired of preparing him, and his heart beat faster when he realized that he was ready.

Gently taking his fingers out of him, Mariku didn't even need to hint at what was next before the shudders that Malik gave came back in full force, his legs shaking as Mariku moved over him. Smiling softly, he took Malik's head in his hands once again.

"You know that I love you. I've told you so, so many times. I'd give the world to you if I could. This is just one more way to show it to you." One short kiss to his lips, and Mariku's hands left him, dragging them down his chest back to his legs, where he pushed his thighs apart, glad when he felt no resistance. Malik had took his lesson seriously.

But his fear was too apparent, his breathing too erratic, and his dry sobbing too sad to ignore.

"I'm not ready, Mariku."

"I'm going to help you."

"I'm scared, Mariku."

"There's no reason to be scared of my love."

"Please don't do this to me."

The lubricant felt good on him, but he knew that Malik would feel better. Moving his thighs apart farther, Mariku lined himself up, but stopped to take one last look up at his boy. Giving him he most loving smile he could muster, he moved so that his arms supported him, grabbing both Malik's hands and twining their fingers together. Malik's own remained still.

"If you want, we can count down." Kissing his cheek, Mariku made a conscious effort to keep himself from taking him right then, but he knew that they had better count down soon. "Should you do it, or should I?" He was growing delirious.

"…I-I will." Malik's response was so quiet that Mariku almost missed it. Kissing him again in encouragement, Mariku's heart beat faster. This was really it.

Closing his eyes, Malik breathed deeply and exhaled, repeating the process a couple of times until he forcefully relaxed, and Mariku was once again reminded of a person walking to the noose.

"Th-three." It was quiet, and Mariku had to let go of one of his hands to steady himself.

"…Two." Malik looked regretful of his decision, like he was backing out, and Mariku watched as he tried to desperately blink away tears. Just one more number, one more word from his beautiful lips and he would claim what he had coveted for years. So why was it taking so long?

"…Malik?" Exasperated when Malik did not immediately finish, Mariku had almost reached his limit.

"M-Mariku, I can't, I can't-"

"Say it, or I do." And those were the right words to say.

"One."

The noose snapped tight around his neck.

Mariku didn't know exactly if he had moved slow into him, or if he had given into lust and had thrust quickly instead. But what he did know was that Malik screamed loudly and his pretty tears leaked from his eyes. Pain. He was a virgin, after all. Continuing to scream after he had reached the hilt, Mariku moved his free hand to wrap around his penis, trying to at least lessen his misery. After all, he was big. But it was only the initial reaction. He would be loving his size in a while.

"Sssh, Malik, it's okay, I'm here." It was a physical effort to not just fuck him hard into mattress, and his hips and penis ached to do so. His breath and voice heavy with passion, he kissed his neck multiple times, moving his open mouth over it to drag his tongue across his beautiful skin.

It was sad how Malik's face was twisted in pain, that even the way that he moved his hand up and down his slowly forming erection, the only thing that he could feel was the intrusion into his body. And god, he was tight. It was euphoria, really, it was, and he loved him so much. He just wanted to stay like this forever. Malik felt like everything he had ever imagined, his body perfect.

Having not replied to him, Malik's head was to the side, and Mariku deemed it okay to move again. Pulling out until almost only the head was left, he pushed back in a little quicker this time, listening to Malik's miserable noises and watching the way his tears dripped out of his squeezed shut eyes. He couldn't help it, the feeling anymore, and he had to go faster. He had to own him, keep him, and take from him what was his right to have. Squeezing his hand in reassurance, Mariku thrust into him again, quicker again.

Malik remained still apart from his occasional shift to try and become more comfortable. His lips were parted and he seemed to start becoming used to him, although it was still nothing more than pain. Pumping his hand around him faster, Mariku coaxed a soft moan from him, and he reveled in the sound of it. He was determined to give him pleasure, then, to show him how good sex was and could be, and Mariku moved his hips at a different angle, hoping to maybe brush against his prostate.

Not being able to hold back any longer, Mariku gave into desire and thrust hard and fast against him over and over, the movements of his hand mimicking his hips. Malik cried out, sobbing as he covered his face with his hand.

"D…Don't cover your face. Look at me while I…make love to you." His voice was strained as his mind was not on talking, only the immense satisfaction and pleasure of Malik's body and the thought of what was happening, ignoring his sobs. God, he felt so good and tight. He was so young…

It felt good to have Malik's eyes on him as he pleasured him. Could he see how much he loved him? Mariku was stripped bare, naked from everything apart from his love. Could he feel how much he needed him? Did he know that without him, Mariku had nothing? Did he know the feeling he gave him when Mariku heard the first moan from his mouth as he finally hit his sweet spot?

It was euphoria again. He wanted those moans to spill from his mouth so that he could pick them up and keep them for himself, never to share with the rest of the world. Malik was his, his! He was his as he kept his hips remaining at that same angle and thrust into him harder and faster, worshipping his body with kisses and conducting the beautiful vocalizations from his mouth. But he had waited so long to take him, that Mariku both hated and loved the feeling of reaching orgasm. He wanted to climax with Malik.

"Tell me you love me over and over." He could barely speak as his mind was clouded with love and lust, desperately kissing him repeatedly on the mouth.

"I love you." Malik knew what to do, he had learned so well from the first time. Speeding up the motion of his hand, Malik gasped and gripped the sheets with his free hand. He needed to hear those words again.

"I love y-you." He could feel heat pooling in his abdomen, helplessly thrusting faster into him.

"M-Malik!" This was it, this was it! It was erratic, all sense of pace lost, and Mariku smiled through it all at his Malik, his Malik, his Malik, his Malik that he loved so much.

"I love you!" Malik's fingers finally tightened around his own.

That was it, then, and Malik was the first one to reach orgasm, cumming over his hand and chest, tightening around him. He was beautiful in orgasmic haze, but Mariku knew nothing other than his own climax and the feeling of completeness from…everything.

It was cloudy in his mind as he finally drew away, as he laid back against Malik's bed, their fingers still twined together. He felt so good…something more than physical completeness. No, he felt it with every inch of him, something more than just orgasmic haze, something that he could not begin to explain. It was Malik. Malik was the only way to explain it.

Malik…

There was nothing that could ever rival him. No money or fame or power could ever be greater then what he felt for him. Breathing heavily, Mariku turned his head to the side to look at him, smiling gently at the site of his flushed face and chest that continued to rise and fall in rhythm. The tears on his face were not real.

"I love you."

It was the last words he spoke that night as he forced his tired limbs to pull his Malik too him, pulling the blankets up so that he would not be cold. There was satisfaction in the work he had done when Malik was too tired to cry, when he merely leaned his head against his chest and fell asleep. Thunder in the background and lightning lighting up the room, Mariku having forgotten about the storm. There was nothing that could take his mind off of his Malik, anyway. After all, nothing could compare to him.

**Reviews are one fifth of a healthy daily diet. Please feed me and keep me healthy. They ish delishus.**

**Things turn around, I swear.**


	18. Chapter 18

**So, like, tomorrow, I'm going to band camp, and I'm going to put my TUBA in my- yes. Hilarious. I'm just a hoot and a holler. Anyway, um. Not much to say before it starts. Have fun reading about rape time.**

* * *

Today wasn't a good day. Nothing really seemed to be going right, and Mariku had a hard time from not just giving up and smacking his boy. Of course, he would never do that, but Mariku wished full well that he could. Then again, things hadn't been going right for a _long_ while.

Like most of the time, Mariku's moods revolved around Malik. His well being, his attitude, his happiness, the amount of attention he paid to him… And lately, he had been getting none of it. Malik would usually read over his letters endlessly with that same twisted expression on his face, and Mariku would be safe to bet that he was thinking about him when he watched him live his life out that day. He would be jumpy and nervous, not that Mariku generally wished that upon him, but it made him feel good to know that, if he couldn't have his professed love, then he could have his fear.

Now he had nothing.

It had started when he had told him that Joshua was not to be tolerated. Mariku really hadn't wanted to resort to physically harming him, or his possessions, but the point had to be clear. He would not tolerate him spending so much time with him. It was jealousy, and Mariku admitted this easily, but it did not change the fact that he did not trust the other boy. Mariku didn't like him around his Malik, because he was _always there_.

Mariku missed the times where he could be happy and follow Malik without interruption and watch him easily. But he had taken those times for granted, because now, whenever Malik was out, so was his damned friend, and it seemed the only time when he was alone was when he was in bed. Mariku didn't necessarily mind watching him then… but it didn't change the fact that he hated the way Joshua would wrap his arm around his waist, loathed the way he had the absolute _balls_ to touch him and laugh with him and be even _near_ him.

And so Mariku had been forced to take drastic measures, and told Malik that to be near Joshua was not acceptable in front of him. He hadn't seen the expression on his face when he had read his letter, but what happened after was enough to send Mariku into a fit of rage.

He was being ignored.

Mariku was now no longer even allowed Malik's fear, and… he couldn't stand it. It was Malik telling him that he was moving on with his life, as if he ignored his notes, Mariku would stop loving him and stop following him. Did he really think it would work? Did he not take him seriously? Or was it just a last final resort to try and escape Mariku's love (which was something he honestly did not understand)? But the answer to all of those questions was the same: it infuriated him.

How dare he!? His Malik, his Malik! He was _his_ Malik! He couldn't just-…just… ignore him! But it seemed he was doing as such, and Mariku pinned blame not only on his boy, but the real cause of it, of all of his anger; Joshua. He wanted him gone, and dammit if Malik wouldn't listen to reason, he would resort to force.

-

Having tried earlier that day to watch his Malik do homework, Mariku had given up when the expected phone call had come, and Malik's attention was on the object of his new hatred. Furious, Mariku couldn't deal with the idea of his Malik's attention being spent on anyone else besides him, and had had enough of watching him when he did not appreciate all he had done for him. Incredibly angry, Mariku grit his teeth and returned home, not having work that day, and even if he did, he didn't feel like working to clean a store for his boy when he was choosing to disobey and ignore him.

Taking out his anger out less productively then he would have liked to, Mariku slammed the front door of the house closed when he parked his car on the driveway. Scowling, his jacket was flung onto the floor and his shoes were kicked off, glaring at the scuff it made on the wall when he kicked one off too hard. Another thing to worsen his mood.

Bakura wasn't home yet which only made him scowl even more, wondering where he was and what he was up to. He was always gone, always, and never once did he seem to have a good reason for it. This, that… Although Bakura had a job, it did not explain the rest of his absences, and he hated the way that he would come home and demand dinner. Scoffing at the idea, Mariku slumped onto the living room couch.

'_Let's see him come home and expect dinner __**today**_.'

Drumming his fingers on the arm rest, Mariku sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling.

Mariku was really starting to hate this. He didn't understand, really, why Malik was so out of his reach, why he couldn't simply just_ claim_ him. After all, he was the only one who seemed to actually care about him and his well being. Or at least, the only one who tried to change it. He did _so fucking much_ for him, and now he dared to go against what he had told of him? No, it just didn't work that way. It was give and take, and all Malik was doing now was taking. Taking his money, his love, his time… And he was going to have to give back sooner or later.

He was tired of just watching him now. Maybe it was… maturing past his initial infatuation of him to realize how much he actually loved him. Because that's what it had been at first. An infatuation. He had fallen in love with him based purely on looks alone, but it was far past that now, and he couldn't stand it. He loved him, he truly did, in more words then he could ever begin to explain. And it was time that their relationship thickened. He couldn't just _watch_ forever, love him from a distance. They needed to meet. He needed Malik with him. It wasn't just about following him anymore.

But that damned boy got in the middle of it. HE was the one who was ruining everything! HE was the reason why Malik was trying to escape him now. HE was the cause of all his problems, and Mariku's hand tightened on the arm rest of the couch. The thought of him made him furious, and Mariku's anger returned in full force. He wanted to kill that boy, to shoot him in the neck and watch him as he choked to death on his own blood. Because _nobody_ deserved Malik more then him. And Malik would watch, too. It would be his lesson to remember just how much he loved him, and just how far he would go for his wellbeing.

Scowl returning to his face, Mariku kicked his foot down against the floor angrily, making a noise in the back of his throat to portray at least a bit how he was feeling. He wanted to end this, end having to stay far away from his boy, end the stupid _idea_ that said he couldn't touch him at such a young age, and end his pissed off mood that was worsening the longer he thought about these things. Picking up the phone suddenly, Mariku stared down at it in his hands.

How easy would it be to just call him up and talk to him? He knew his number, surely it would be incredibly simple. It wouldn't be anything too severe, and he would try to restrain himself from proclaiming love to him and taking his anger out on him as he would have liked to at the moment. Just a talk, just a little talk. He could pretend that he had gotten the wrong number, and as he apologized, he would pull a conversation out of him. God, if he could just hear his voice…

The phone rested heavy in his hands as Mariku leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He could feel himself getting hard as he thought about him, and Mariku tried to remember when the last time he had come thinking about him. It had been a couple days ago, hadn't it? When Malik had been studying for exams in the park where it was cool and not dirty like the city. Yes, that was it… There hadn't been anyone really around, and he had just looked so beautiful that day… Mariku's cock twitched at the memory and he sighed happily, pressing the first button of his number on the phone.

Two.

He looked so small outside away from all of the tall buildings, just another face, but Mariku had known better. He had imagined his mouth on him, kneeling down before him, and had just reached into his pants and lived through his imagination, and Mariku repeated the motion he had done then, rubbing himself through his pants.

One, Four.

Malik's mouth had to be talented, and he would move his tongue expertly around him as the real Malik had looked down at his study papers. Eight. His body would be begging for him in need, but Mariku was cruel in his imagination and paid him no attention, relaxing against the chair as he worked for it, to be touched. Six. And Malik would make desperate little noises, all of which would only heighten his lust and his throbbing erection. Malik was good at that, he imagined. Because maybe Malik was the one who was really in control. Maybe he had forced him back against the chair and took the situation into his own hands. Perhaps Malik would be on top that night. Mariku shakily pressed Eight.

His orgasm was coming quickly as Malik's sucks became more lengthy and the hand around his base squeezed harder, as Mariku's hand in the real world sped up. And then he couldn't take it anymore, and he had to cum. Nine. Mariku pressed Talk.

His hand paused and his fantasy evaporated from his mind, listening to the beeps the phone made as it recalled the numbers he had typed. A pause, a horrible pause as Mariku panted on the edge of orgasm, and then the phone rang on the other side, the speaker button being pressed. Butterflies plagued his insides at the anticipation of his boy's voice. But it was ringing too long. Should it be ringing that long? Was Malik not home? Mariku panicked a bit, the thought of if his sister would answer the phone never crossing his mind. There was a click, then, and Mariku moaned loudly.

"Hello?"

Oh god, it was him! It was his voice. It was Malik. Letting himself free through his pants, Mariku's eyebrows furrowed, and he pumped himself up and down desperately.

"…Hello?" The question was repeated, and Mariku touched his erection freely, gasping and imagining the owner of the voice touching him.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Malik was starting to sound a little annoyed now, and Mariku moaned out loud

"M-Maa-alik-k." Shit, shit, he couldn't keep his voice straight, it was just too hard, he loved him too much.

"Hello!? Who is this?" He sounded confused, and Mariku laughed slightly, but it ended with another moan as Malik demanded who he was.

"Who the hell are you!?" Beautiful Malik… he was delicious when he was scared.

"I'm yo-" He was coming now, and Mariku gasped as he felt himself start to orgasm. He wanted to hear Malik again… But Malik's voice was drowned out by the sound of the front door being opened.

"Did you make me dinner!?"

And he did come, then, all over his hands and pants. But it wasn't sweet or satisfying. Mariku didn't know that he could ever be furious during orgasm. Right after the second he felt his orgasmic haze start to leave, Mariku slammed his thumb down on the "off" button.

"_Fuck_!" Oh, he was furious now, even more so then he had been before. He had ruined everything! He was supposed to hear _Malik's_ voice! Chucking the phone at the wall, it didn't lessen his anger as it broke the back off. "Fuck you!" Fuck, he still had cum all over his hand.

Bakura stood with his hand still on his shoe in the middle of taking it off, an odd expression on his face at his sudden anger and the cum on his hand and pants. Watching as he continued to yell and pick up smaller things to throw in the general direction of the wall, Bakura continued with taking his shoes off and hanging up his coat. A bit tentative, he entered the living room.

"I could have taken care of that for you, you know." Eyeing him, Bakura's pale lips smirked slightly, and Mariku stood dumbfounded with rage.

"F-fuck…you." He was shaking as he faced him, gritting his teeth together and making a conscious effort not to punch him. With Bakura, getting angry hardly helped unless it was with fists, not insults, and so he forced himself to try and calm, lowering his voice. "Dinner? I don't fucking think so." Scowling down at the substance on his hand, he wiped it on Bakura's sleeve as he walked by him, glaring.

Bakura looked down at it, pausing a little and looking amused. "How productive. You must really be angry. But," wiping his finger into a bit of it to look at it as if he was unfamiliar with what it was, Bakura looked back at him and smirked, "like I said, I would have easily taken care of it for you." Bakura stuck the finger into his mouth and continued on his way to the kitchen.

Growling lowly at the way he had been dismissed so easily, Mariku's hands turned to fists, and he exhaled sharply, refraining from kicking…something, or someone. Faintly Mariku knew that if he was provoked anymore, his anger would start to be dangerous. It had happened before… Mariku hadn't been taking his medicine often. He didn't want to seem fake for Malik.

"You're making dinner." Frowning, Mariku followed Bakura into the kitchen and slumped down into a chair at their table.

"I guessed that when you started throwing the phone and the cup I had on the table out there." Bakura gestured with his head towards the living room, going through the cupboards and trying to find something to make. He pulled out a box of macaroni and cheese making Mariku scowl again. Bakura might have been making dinner, but he wasn't going to put any effort into it, and go the easy way out. "Why are you so mad, anyway-?" He paused a short while after he ended his question, white blonde hair moving over his shoulder as he filled a pot up with water.

"Malik." He could guess the way this conversation would turn out, and Mariku frowned, drumming his fingers angrily and nervously on the table. It wasn't as if he really wanted to get in a fight… which was what would most likely happen.

Another pause. "…Oh." His voice wavered a bit, but Mariku ignored it. Bakura never got upset.

"It's Joshua, his fucking friend who won't leave him the fuck alone." Drumming his fingers harder at the thought of him, Mariku wondered what Malik was doing now. "I haven't even been able to watch him without him being there anymore!" Raising his voice, Mariku hoped that Bakura would see what a problem he was and agree with Mariku that he was right.

Turning to look at him, Bakura's expression was serious, and he furrowed his eyebrows slightly, leaning on the counter as the water began to boil. "Maybe that's for the best, Mariku."

Mariku looked at him with an open mouth running over what he had said in his mind. What did he mean by that? Mariku frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about!? Didn't you listen to me!? I can't even just _see_ _him_ anymore!"

Bakura looked sad, then, and he sighed. His serious expression was gone when he looked up, replaced by one that looked like a bit pleading, as if he was trying to get him to understand something. "Mariku, he's just a kid."

"I-" What…was he going to say? This was ridiculous. Of course he knew that! Mariku didn't understand. "I don't understand. Where do you get off on all of this, anyway?" Oh, he was starting to get mad again… "I bet you enjoy it, don't you? You hate Malik and you hate me for loving him! But you don't fucking listen, do you, Bakura!? _You're_ the one who doesn't love me anymore! I've always loved you! The reason I watch Malik at all is because you're never here! And saying things like that isn't going to stop making me love him, either." His voice having gotten to the point where he was screaming and pointing figurative fingers, Mariku's voice dropped dangerously low, his hand starting to shake with anger. Dammit, dammit, dammit… Mariku didn't know if he could control himself if Bakura started to fight with him. "You say one fucking more thing about him, and I swear to god that I won't refrain from beating you."

A pause. Bakura looked torn as he leaned against the counter, a sad expression on his face, scared, angry, …disappointed. "…Mariku…" Bakura seemed to choose his words carefully, saying them softly to try and not provoke him. "Mariku… this isn't about me anymore. I'm jealous, yes, anybody would be, because in a way, Mariku, you're _cheating on me._" Another wary pause to see how he was faring at his words, Bakura continued. "But… it's not about that now. Mariku, he's just a _kid._ You're going to hurt him, Mariku, and I know it hurts you to listen to me say this, but it's not right. If you love him, you will stop stalking him and stop doing this to him and let him _live his life again_. Please, Mariku, this is starting to get out of control."

"…I'm not stalking him."

"Yes you are, Mariku!" Bakura's voice raised with a certain amount of urgency, stepping off from the counter to face him closer. "You're watching him without his consent, ruining his life! And god, I don't know what all else you've done to him, either. I don't even know the kid, but it doesn't matter. You don't do things like this to people you love. This isn't love, Mariku. This isn't even about Malik. This is about _you._"

"Shut _up!!_" Bakura's words were the breaking point then, and Mariku snapped as Bakura reached out to him. Jumping up violently from his chair, he wrenched Bakura's arm and smacked him as hard as he could across the face. He seemed to expect it, and didn't even vocalize when he was then punched hard in his stomach. It was a bit sad, really, Mariku thought as he continued to scream at him and punch him as hard as he could, that he just took it. He didn't say anything, try to help himself, just… let him work out his frustration on him. And when he let him go of his shirt to crumple on the floor, Mariku kicked him hard in the side, the first moan audible, but not stopping because of it. Readying himself for another well aimed kick, Mariku paused when Bakura looked up at him.

His lip was bloody and bruises were already starting to form underneath his eye and on his jaw, evidence of the abuse he had suffered through. But still he said nothing, only looked sadly up at him. Mariku couldn't hurt him like this… looking like that… even if he so desperately wanted to, hatred still pulsing strong through his blood stream.

"G-get out of my house." It was an effort to speak the words without screaming, and his voice stuttered when he did so, glare still evident on his face. And when Bakura didn't leave, he raised his hand to hit him again, making him flinch just a little bit. "I said get the _fuck_ out of my house!" Because having Bakura staying with him now would mean he would have to look at his mistake, at what he had done to him. Mariku couldn't live with that… By having Bakura be the one to leave, he was running from his problems. But really, he didn't care. If having Bakura leave meant that he would not be able to hurt him anymore, then fine.

Slowly looking back up at him, Bakura diverted his eyes and brought his knees up underneath him, standing shakily from his beating. He was a bit wobbly on his feet, and Mariku could tell from his grimace that it was a conscious effort to not vocalize his pain. Bakura was strong, after all, and he wouldn't risk his masculinity by showing that he was hurting. Mariku stood still as he passed him, not giving him the decency to watch him on the way out the door. He had deserved it, after all, deserved every single one of the bruises and blood flecks on his shirt.

"I thought you had changed, Mariku." Bakura sounded like he had trouble breathing, perhaps from one of the kicks he had bestowed upon his chest. "But I guess I was wrong. Go ahead, Mariku, love him, delude yourself that he loves you back. But when you hurt him beyond repair, remember that I had tried to help you. Remember that you had me, and that you'll always have me. I'll always be there for you, Mariku, even though you've hurt me like this."

There was a pause where Mariku could not hear anything other then his forced breathing, and he stiffened when he wondered if he expected a reply. A sigh when he did not reply to him, and Bakura's footsteps continued behind him, only stopping to put on his shoes and coat before he opened the door and shut it quietly. Without Bakura, Mariku immediately relaxed.

That had gone badly… Making a frustrated noise, Mariku glanced to the pot of boiling water that Bakura had started to cook dinner in, turning the stove off and dumping the water down the drain. He didn't really feel like eating now. Feeling lost and without a purpose, Mariku knew what the only thing that could ever make him happy was, and picked his coat up and left the house.

-

Hands in his pockets, Mariku didn't mind the freezing wind as it blew his hair across his face as he looked up at his Malik's window, a light on inside.

"I need you so badly…" Mariku's voice choked up a little as he spoke, feeling a rush of emotions from everything that had happened that day. "Look what you're doing to me, Malik. I'm so tired of this… I'm trying so hard to save you and all you're doing is tormenting me. Save me, Malik. I know you're the only one who can…"

It had been a long time since he had cried, and Mariku moved his hands to hide his face from the world, shamed. He hoped that Malik could hear his choked sobs as he cried softly. Because the tears were for Malik, and Malik alone.

* * *

'I am alive.'

Those words were what Malik thought every day. They assured him that he was, in fact, painfully still alive. His consciousness and being as seen by others had not ended in the middle of the night, be it a blessing or a curse. He was alive, although death seemed so much more comforting. Comfort could be found in death, although some would make it believe it is found in an embrace. Malik knew no such comfort.

What it meant, contact, love, the idea of affection… is abstract, something that the sole person must figure out themselves. Acceptance is what society views as normality, the goal to strive to reach conformity of the mass population. To find love, a person that is your reason, purpose… it is what defines humanity, the desire to covet another human being. But Malik had no one like that, and he didn't think he ever could.

'Who am I?'

Those words were what Malik thought every day. Who was he? He was a person, a human, his own being, himself. Ego. Malik was the collection of his traits and personality, his actions and reactions. But, if that was true… who was he now? Was he still Malik, the person he had been as a child? Inside, he was not. He had changed, grown so much since then. Then what designated the self? The psyche, the control center, the beginning of formation and being, was what decides actions. Was that what made him who he was? Development? A child is born with a name, and that is what stays the same, security throughout life, a thing that nobody can take away. Yet, that same child grows, and the baby that was born dies in childhood becomes somebody else, no longer a baby or a child, but an adult. Should the name change, too? If a person is their name, then they have no identity, a faceless being next to the others of the same name. Malik was not Malik. He was himself, a person, a human, his own being, separate from all the others. So why did he want to be just another faceless person?

'I am not normal.'

Those words were what Malik despaired over every day. He would give anything to live a normal life in a normal neighborhood in a normal world. Malik wanted nothing more than to blend in with normality, to be a nobody who nobody paid any attention to. And he supposed that he had gotten that wish. He had been a nobody in school, the only thing separating him from his classmates being his skin; easily forgotten. Maybe it was his skin that had damned him in the end. After all, it was the only thing that made him special, different. And people who were different stood out. Malik would never be normal, now. He was scarred forever for the world to see. Then again, there was no world now. Malik's only world was the person who had mutilated him.

Who had touched him.

Who had hurt him.

Who had-

_Raped him._

_Raped him. Touched him. Killed him._

Being alive was no longer a comfort.

"Good morning, my Malik." Malik felt dead inside as his world was filled with words. Or at least, he wished to be. He wished so hard to die when he could feel skin against his own bare skin. Bare, naked… He could feel skin everywhere next to his back and his legs and his arms… Malik was being held in the arms of fear, in the arms of his rapist. "I love you, I love you."

The words were recited over and over, but Malik was numb and they meant nothing. Numb… numb apart from everything but touch. Because Malik… couldn't deal with it. Mentally, he could not accept what had happened. He couldn't accept it. If he accepted it, it was real. It wasn't real, it couldn't be real, th-there was no way that it was real… Malik felt like praying, getting on his knees and groveling to whatever god that was listening to pardon him from all that he had done in his life and save him, to take him away from hell and back into the arms of his family. Malik wanted to go home.

"Sh, Malik, don't cry…" Mariku's words were poison against him as he leaned over next to him. He could feel his bare chest against his arm… "Don't cry, everything's all right. Shh, there's no reason to be sad." Again he was humiliated. Shamed to cry as hot tears dripped down his face, but not caring to try and hide him. His masculinity had been stripped away from him like so many other things. Nothing mattered anymore… Nothing, not even Mariku's arms around him and his lips against the back of his neck.

"Don't tell me that." It hurt to speak and use his voice, to talk to the object of his terror and pain, and it hurt more that when he did, the arms around him tightened. "T-tell me that… you want to touch me, that you're going to keep me here and never let me go. Tell me that you want to hurt me, but…" There was no way to stop the tremors in his voice and the sobs that wracked his body. The only thing he had control over, the only thing that Mariku hasn't stolen from him, was his words. "Don't tell me that it will be okay, that you… love me. Don't lie to me, d-don't give me false hopes, don't hurt me more than you…already have. Please just don't lie to me anymore."

"Who says that I'm lying?" Mariku matched his whisper as his lips moved across his shoulders, kissing him softly. Malik felt him shift behind him, their legs tangled together. "The only lies are the ones that you tell yourself, the ones you force yourself into believing. You're safe with me, and you always will be."

Mariku's mouth was hot against his skin… What was Malik supposed to do short of breaking down and screaming his hatred and fear of the world? Death. Th-that was right… death could save him. H-He could always kill himself. Yes… it would be over then, everything would be gone and he would be safe then. Mariku was feeding him lies and fake promises, trying to trick him to lead him to his lair where he could devour him and toss his bones aside.

"N-no…" Rape, rape. He had been raped. He had forced his legs apart and raped him. Malik had let him. He had laid back and let him rape him. It was his fault, his fault, all of it, his, his…! Malik was worthless and dirty. He was nothing. He was what his father had told him he had been, a worthless child. Father… His father had been right. "N-no, I can't- I-" Rape. It was true. He had been raped. He had been touched so disgustingly, defiled- worthless. Malik couldn't deal with this. There was nothing left to think about. The only thing that remained were the facts. Mariku had raped him, and Malik's mind was broken. The limits had been crossed and there was no going back. Malik was… broken.

"You're thinking too much, Malik." He continued to speak softly in that tone that was often used on him, used on a child who couldn't understand. "Don't think, just listen to me and feel me. Your mind is telling you that it's wrong for me to love you and you listen to it, but your body responds to me, my Malik. Listen to me when I say that I love you." And Mariku kissed him on his neck, tears coming freely so that he turned him to face him in his arms. Malik's eyes were wide with terror, his mind not working properly, shaken to the core.

Because he had been raped he had been raped he had been raped he had been raped. His mind ran over those words over and over again, not fully knowing what they really meant, but understanding exactly what had happened to him. Because this time…he could not ignore it. He had tried desperately before to pretend that he had not been raped before, to save the last bit of sanity he had. It had been easier, then, because even if he had been raped, Mariku hadn't…been…in him. But now he couldn't, he couldn't ignore it. It was final, concrete, and Malik's world came crashing down around him. With realization, Malik had nothing left.

"I love you." Mariku smiled down at him in a way that was meant to be kind, but Malik didn't see it. His mind was not in the present. "I love you so much. I could say it forever. _Let_ me say it forever. Just listen to me…"

Listen to him…

Malik's eyes were dull as he stared at his naked chest, Mariku having squeezed him tighter to himself. Naked meant closeness and made Malik think of touch and heighten his sensitivity and phobia of his arms around him. He kissed him all over his face and shoulder, soft, small little kisses that did not linger but came in supply. But Malik could do nothing about it, he couldn't stop it. Maybe it was kind of Mariku to have raped him… because Malik finally understood that he was not in control. At least now he understood this fully, and he wouldn't give himself false hopes and ideas only to have them stripped away from him. Malik was terrified at the feeling of Mariku getting just a little hard next to his leg, wanting to be sick and run away, save himself and cry for everything he had lost and what he would never get back.

If he loved him back, then…

"Mariku-." Malik looked expectantly up at his face, eyes still blurry with the tears that had not yet stopped. By now, they were a constant companion. But when he found that the voice had not been his, Malik was confused and scared. Mariku's mouth paused on his forehead, lips parted slightly, and he could feel his breath on his skin before he slowly turned his head and looked to the side.

"…What do you want?" Even though it was not directed to him, Mariku's tone of voice terrified him. That was the tone he used when he had raped him, hurt him, destroyed him…

"…Mariku-" The other person paused, and Malik wondered when the door had opened, and wondering when he had started losing hope so much that he did not even have the passing thought of 'maybe they will save me.' Malik knew that he would never be saved. The accent gave it away as Bakura, after all. He didn't care for him, he wanted him dead… Malik wished that he had been truthful when he said he would have left him out in the freezing snow and shot him in the woods. "I need to talk to you."

"Stay still." Mariku turned himself and his attention back on him, kissing his nose and parting with a kiss on his lips, running his hand up and down his arm. "Wait for me, Habibi. This won't take long. Stay in bed." Malik didn't dare defy what Mariku told him to do, he had learned what happened when he disobeyed, after all.

The mattress squeaked a little as Mariku turned to move off of the bed, the depression where he had been laying next to him rising. And despite it all, Malik felt lost and alone when he left him. Maybe that was what made him feel the most sick of all as his breathing hitched up, crying harder. Malik felt so lost… what reason was there for him to live anymore? His mind was shot, his psyche finally destroyed. There was no fight left in him, no reason left to live.

Mariku's footsteps were soft against the floor, and Malik wouldn't have been able to hear his departure if it wasn't for the soft click of the door when they both left. But their voices were clear, after, and he could hear every bit of it as they yelled at each other.

"This has gone too far, Mariku!"

"Who are you to say _anything_ about what I can and can't do!?"

"This isn't about you, Mariku! Look at what you're doing to him!"

"I'm not _doing_ anything. The only problem here is you."

"Mariku, listen to me! You're going to kill him, Mariku! He can't take much more of this! You're hurting hi-"

"You _shut the fuck up!_"

A sound of a smack, and the yelling continued.

"He is mine, and I decide what to do with him, and what is and isn't good for him."

"…Do you remember, Mariku? What happened the last time?"

"This has nothing to do with that. Just because you still haven't gotten over it doesn't mean that I haven't."

"I've gotten you help before, but you won't listen to me. Maybe it is best like this, because when you do kill him in the end, you'll finally know what you've been doing."

"…Get out of my sight."

There was the sound of more arguing, but it was too soft and low for Malik to hear, so he merely turned his face into the mattress and… breathed. It was about all he could do now, anyway. Even breathing hurt. It hurt to keep living. Living meant to remember.

"I'm sorry, Habibi." The door was open and Malik heard Mariku's bare feet on the floor, not turning to look at him. "Bakura is-… maybe I really will get rid of him. He doesn't like you, you know. He wants you gone and to take you away from me." Mariku's voice sounded a bit hurt, betrayed, and Malik stiffened when he felt his knee on the corner of the bed, sinking down with his weight.

"But I'm not going to let that happen." Mariku's hands were rough against his back, smoothing over his skin, making Malik whimper and scrunch his shoulders forward to hide his face from him. "Hey, don't do that." His voice held a sort of amusement in it, and he leaned over to kiss his cheek, hands still massaging him, terrifying him. Mariku paused then when he ran his lips over the tears on his face, and he leaned over that for a long while before drawing away. "I was waiting for you to ask first, but… do you want to send your letter, now, my Malik?" His hands were softer now against him, running over his sides and the curve of his hip.

"…Yes." Oh, that was right. He had forgotten about that… But Malik didn't really care. It probably wouldn't be sent, anyway. Mariku would probably burn it and lie to him…

Mariku moved again from behind him, and Malik heard him moving around his room to where he thought his desk was. That was something that Mariku had bought him from the catalogue with the rest of his small possessions, though he never used it, not having anything to work on, anyway. He just wanted his books.

"Here." Mariku smiled gently at him in the way that made his eyes narrow, a pencil and notebook in his hand. Looking over at him when he turned his shoulder so that he couldn't hide anymore, Malik diverted his eyes from him quickly and took the notebook. He didn't know why he was surprised at the fact that he was naked… but he did know the reason why it terrified him.

The pencil felt familiar in his hands, like a traveler coming back from abroad to the country they were born in. It was something so simple and familiar, a part of his everyday life that had been taken from him. Pencils were held in school and in life. There was no school here and Malik had no life. The return of it in his hands felt almost foreign when he set it against the paper.

"Sit up." And Malik did as he told, letting Mariku move behind him to lean against the headboard and pull Malik's back against his chest, their bare skin making contact.

This was it, then? He had been denied of his family for so long, had begged to be let go, to just talk to his sister and brother one last time, and had given up hopes of ever seeing them again. And now he was expected to just…write? Malik again felt lost, feeling tears return to his eyes and desperately trying to control them. No. He wouldn't cry. H-he wouldn't cry even though he h-had nothing left, even though he had been…r-raped.

Making a small stroke one the paper to make sure that what he was doing was the right way to do it, Malik started, not knowing what to say and what to leave out. Maybe, and it was an obscure thought, he could hint to his presence, but Mariku was watching him over his shoulder, and thought the same thing.

"Don't tell them where you are." Mariku's hands wrapped around his middle, heightening his sickness. "Tell them that you're safe and that you're loved. You're here out of your own will and to not look for you." Obeying, Malik was silent as his hand moved slowly across the paper, his eyes dull as he watched himself write.

It was over too soon as Malik finally found himself at a loss for words, terrified to end it and have his letter be over. Because this was his last time to talk to him, and he wanted to tell them everything and continue talking forever. Even if it was not face to face, Malik felt close to them, knowing that they would(if Mariku was truthful) read it. These were his last words to them… Malik felt his hand shaking slightly and the horrible, disgusting tears spill from his eyes, marring the paper with the proof of his weakness as they dripped onto it.

"Finish it, Malik."

"P-please don't make me…" God, he was so pathetic…

"Every letter has to end sometime." His hand moved to hold his own. Shifting behind him, Mariku moved his mouth to his ear. "Tell them that I made love to you. Tell them that you're happy and that this is your home. Tell them that I love you…and that you love me."

And Mariku's hand moved his own, forcing his pencil to move in the way he wanted to form the words he wanted. But Malik did not resist. Because… he had nothing left. Nothing. And a thought came to mind, then, as he sat with Mariku holding him. It was the one thing he had left to hold onto. This was his one last hope.

"…Do you love me, Mariku?"

"I never knew what love was before I met you."

"…If I love you, will you keep me safe?"

"I'm never going to let anything happen to you. I'm going to protect you, my Malik, forever."

"M-Mariku…" Malik's heart hurt to say the words that came out of his mouth. "M-Mariku, please love me. Please, please love me and keep me safe and never hurt me. Tell me you love me, please, please…" His free hand moved to tightly hold the one Mariku had around his stomach, not daring to let go. This was his last hope. If it was a lie, Malik would truly have nothing left to live for.

"I love you, Malik."

"…I love you too."

Malik did not resist as Mariku turned his head to kiss him, pencil and letter forgotten as he moved over him. His arms were tight around him and he held him as close as he possibly could, wondering if the tears he felt against his face were only just his own. This was his last attempt to save himself. Malik wanted to live, and he had to adapt to the environment he had been forced into. To stay alive meant to become how his new world seemed fit. He had nothing left to lose, after all. Even Mariku's fake love was better then nothing at all, and Malik wanted to live.

Something crumbled inside of him then as Mariku made love to him that morning. It wasn't rape then, because Malik loved him back. And maybe Mariku was right. Maybe the only lies that were there were the ones he told himself. Mariku loved him, after all. The only thing left to do was believe him.

-

_Dear Isis and Rishid,_

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry for anything that I've ever done to you, any hateful words I might have ever said. They were lies, all of them. I love you both so much, and I wish desperately that I could see you. Please don't worry about me. I'm safe here now, and I have somebody who loves me more then anybody ever could. Don't worry, please don't. I'm here out of my own freewill, and I don't want to go home. Please forgive me, please listen to me. I don't know how to say this… I was never really good about explaining how I felt, huh? Well I guess this is just another one of those times… You know, it's just me, it's just Malik. I haven't changed at all. But I love you both so much. I want you to know how much I love you, and that I'll never forget you. I feel like I need to say it over and over again for you to understand how much I really do love you, but I know that you'll never be able to even start to understand… I miss you so badly, but I know that if I try and see you again, they'll take me away from the person that loves me, and I don't think I'm ready to make that decision. He made love to me last night… And I'm happy here, this is my home now, and I love him back. And you have to let me go. You know that I would have gone to college in only a couple of years and have left you. I've just left earlier. This is me saying goodbye, I suppose. Goodbyes are always sad, but in time you learn how to move on. But I'll always remember you, and I'll always love you both. Please don't forget about me. Remember me forever._

_-Love,_

_Malik_

* * *

**Oh shizznitz! Bakura isn't an antagonist!? No. He's not. More will be revealed later for the small price of 45.95. **

**Malik, in a last attempt to save his sanity, tries to force himself to believe that Mariku loves him in hopes that it will be easier to cope. For all who wanted Stockholm Syndrome, you got it. He doesn't really believe that Mariku loves him, he knows that he doesn't, but he forces himself to try and believe it, anyway. Because his mind is just about shot right now.**

**I really want 215 reviews by the next time I update. Please give them to me. ;; When I get back from band camp, I can cry from happiness that I got them, because DAMN I'M GOING TO NEED SOMETHING NICE. Band camp is hell. Anyway, yeah. Reviews. Give me one, please?**


	19. Chapter 19

**AN AMAZING AMMOUNT OF REVIEWS. I DIED FROM HAPPINESS. Keep it up? Mays I please has 145 next time I update? Becase school starts in ten days, baw. ...Is it callous of me to ask for reviews before the chapter starts? Pardon me and my unrefined antics. Tsk tsk, I'll go beat myself to wash my sins away, now. **

* * *

Malik was here today.

Mariku had contemplated quitting his job at the bookstore to punish Malik, to show him 'look what you've done. You no longer deserve the love I give you.' It wasn't as if the job was really that hard, just a bit of cleaning, and the hours were flexible, but… He just really didn't want to work in a place for someone who did not _appreciate_ what they were doing for them. Even the money he didn't need; he had enough of that. No… the only thing that kept him tied to the little, dusty bookshop was Malik, and when Malik was no longer treating him as he should, what was the point?

He didn't really know when he planned on quitting, maybe sometime around paycheck… But when Mariku looked up from setting out a new order of books, he knew he could wait to quit just a little while longer. Quietly setting down the stack of books he had been carrying, he left only a couple in his arms incase his boss asked why he had suddenly stopped working. Moving from his place near a bookshelf in the front of the shop, he followed Malik with his eyes to the back of the store.

Oh, that was good of him… He was alone. Yes, very good, Malik… Maybe he was learning that what Mariku said was his law, and that he had to accept what he told him to do, or there would be repercussions. Mariku was just thankful that that _damn_ boy hadn't come along with him. It would have been an ultimate insult if he had. This was his and Malik's place, theirs alone, where Mariku had first started to fall in love with him. Mariku didn't think he could ever really quit.

Malik looked pretty today. He always did, but there was just something about him… Maybe it was the way that he looked so vulnerable. His posture was a little off as he walked slowly to the back of the store, head down and staring at his feet. It was sad, that someone that beautiful and wonderful would be so depressed, but Mariku didn't mind. He loved all of his moods, after all.

His clothes were plain, just a simple t-shirt he had gotten from school for a pep assembly and jeans, and his hair hung limp around his shoulders. He shuffled his feet as he walked, not caring to hold himself up proudly as he usually did. There was something wrong. Something had happened, and Mariku frowned to himself when he realized that he had not been there watching him enough to know what it was. Unable to help him in any other way, Mariku opted for giving him his silent support as he followed him to the very back of the room.

There was nothing much in the back of the store, only a couple rows of books on clearance and a table, a little stand of magazines lining the wall. Wondering why he would come back here instead of to his normal place where he read, Mariku fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, watching as Malik slumped down onto a chair. Malik looked so sad, dejected, small, and lonely. He wanted to hold him and tell him that everything, _everything_ would be okay. Because Malik needed to be saved. He needed someone to be there for him and to love him and keep him forever. Someone to worship him as they should, someone to _touch_ him. Mariku would be that person. He would do all the things that the world should already be doing for Malik, but did not; and he would love it every step of the way.

It was nice watching Malik like this, and Mariku felt a bit nostalgic, smiling at the memories of having watched him earlier. Like this, Mariku could ignore the things that Malik had done to make him angry, and imagine that everything was fine and back to normal. Yes, this was just another day, and Joshua did not exist, only Malik, and Mariku's love for him.

Malik stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his mouth open only slightly, and his fingers would twitch every so often. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply, frowning. Mariku didn't like this. He didn't like that he hadn't been watching him enough to know what had happened. But it was Malik's fault, wasn't it? Mariku wasn't watching him because Malik had been bad, so really, he didn't deserve his sympathy, but… Mariku couldn't help it. He couldn't be mad at him. Resigned, Mariku moved to a spot positioned between two bookshelves so that he could see Malik perfectly, but Malik could not see him at all; Mariku could never stop watching him.

He sat down quietly in a chair, intent upon watching him, and drummed his fingers silently on the arm rest. It gave him sort of a high to know that he was watching Malik without him knowing it. He liked the idea that he could see into Malik's life, know what he did at every moment of the day, and that Malik thought he was alone while he did it. And in a sense, it reminded him of the good times with _her._ Mariku paused momentarily from his thoughts, clenching his hand on the arm rest. No, he wouldn't think about then… That was over. He was moving on now, and the only person he would ever love would be Malik.

Shaking his head slightly, Mariku cleared his head. He didn't really want to think about anything now, nothing real complicated, just Malik and what Malik did to him. Letting his eyes focus back onto Malik, Mariku watched the battle of emotions on his face intently. It looked like he was fighting back against the urge to cry, his face twisted and his eyes a bit watery, breathes coming in heavier like he was holding it back.

'_Poor Malik… If you came to me right now, I would hold you and never let you go. I would let you cry on me and I would make it better, everything, and you would never leave me.'_

Mariku sighed at his thoughts, feeling suddenly incredibly lonely. He wanted to hold him… He wanted there to be a time when Malik was so wrought with sadness that he couldn't say 'no' to him. That the only thing he could concentrate on would be the sadness as he made it better, as he loved on him. Because a despondent Malik was a beautiful Malik.

Shifting slightly in his chair, Mariku watched Malik rub his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to keep himself from crying. He smiled a bit at that. Malik was so strong… And he was such a good pretender, too. He was an actor, really. He was hard to the world, and he didn't show his feelings other then the ones that were positive, not negative. But Mariku knew the truth, and maybe he was the only one who really did. He knew that Malik suffered internally, that he was not as strong as he tried to make himself appear to be. Malik was a martyr, if anything. He took the brunt of life, and showed none of the true wounds that life dealt upon him. Mariku admired that about him… But of course, when the day came that Malik was _his_, he wouldn't have to hold any of his emotions or feelings back. Mariku would understand all of them.

Malik looked as though he was concentrating a bit on his breathing, then, as Mariku continued to watch him. In, out… In, out… Malik was bent on not crying, even though it was obvious that he was still thinking about whatever had made him so upset in the first place. Silly Malik… He was adding to his own torment by thinking about it. If he truly wanted to keep his emotions in check, he would have to move on and think about other things. Then again, it wasn't as if Mariku could chide him, anyway. Thinking about this, Mariku frowned a bit when Malik finally gave up.

The tears were inevitable, but Mariku was still a bit surprised when they came. It caught him off guard, thinking Malik had calmed down a bit, and Mariku watched silently when he choked up and sobbed into his hands. There was something so very pathetic and human in Malik's posture, with his elbows leaned onto his knees, supporting himself as he sobbed into his hands. His shoulders shook with his sadness, making small sounds that came with crying, his breaths choking up every so often.

It wasn't that often that Mariku had the opportunity to see Malik cry, and Mariku soaked in every move he made as he did so. Mariku watched and noted everything Malik did so intently that he felt that if he wanted to, he could feel everything he was doing. He was beautiful like this… It was beautiful to see such a hopeless emotion from him, to see him brought down so far from his usual strong self to let go of everything and cry, to show Mariku the pain he was feeling. Beautiful, beautiful, and horribly, horribly arousing.

There was something in the way that Malik cried that turned him on so much. Breaking down and crying, no longer having the shields that he usually carried to hide his real self behind them. Mariku could see everything, now. And he loved his hopelessness, his pathetic sounds and his beautiful face as he cried. Crying, crying… Malik was helpless and small and vulnerable. Mariku wanted to touch him.

He repressed a groan, thinking about this and watching Malik cry before him, feeling himself grow hard in his pants. Shit… He was at work, he couldn't- But Malik was here, and what Malik was doing was something he might never be able to see again.

"Ugh…" Making a noise in the back of his throat at his conflicting wants and the part of his brain that was realistic, Mariku rubbed himself a bit through his pants, biting his lip at the feeling.

It wouldn't really hurt if he were to masturbate here, would it? He doubted he would be caught. Nobody ever came to the back of the store, and it was a bit separate from the main room. He was concealed, and he really would never get this opportunity again. Closing his eyes, Mariku chose what to do, happy with his decision as he listened to Malik's chocked sobs while unbuttoning his pants. Malik…

Malik, Malik, always Malik. Malik made him so happy, he was everything that he lived for. Malik, Malik… he was so beautiful, and he did things to him that Bakura could never hope to do. Leaning his head back to rest on the top of the chair, Mariku groaned when he felt his hands on his free erection, touching himself a bit softly. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to the side so that he could watch Malik, still crying.

His depressed posture was so beautiful, and it seemed like it would be so easy to just… take him away. Yes, he would take him away somewhere that only Mariku would be, nobody else. Maybe he would fight him at first, because Malik was such a good actor, of course, but he would break eventually, and Mariku would get to see more of his beautiful tears. He'd love him, of course, but he would grow tired of trying to soothe Malik's fear, and wouldn't care for his feelings the more time went on. He would touch him every day, his flawless skin… He would run his hands heavily all over his body, along his thighs and sides and stomach and chest and face. Because Malik was so fucking perfect and his body was so fucking _alive_ and beautiful and soft and gorgeous and fleshy. And Malik would cry.

He gripped himself harder around the base, concentrating on Malik's face as he moved his hand up and down his erection, a bit slow, wanting to drag the moment out, imagining his fantasy as he did so. Yes, Malik would cry as he was doing now. He would sob and plead and beg for him not to hurt him, would throw himself at his feet in terror just to keep himself from being touched. And Mariku, in his fantasy, would be cruel. He would act understanding, would comfort him with kind words and make Malik believe that he really wouldn't hurt him, would pet him and kiss him kindly. And once Malik believed that he would be saved, Mariku would return to his plans.

Maybe he would tie him, restrain his hands behind his back so that he couldn't get away and couldn't protest physically, but leave his mouth ungagged so that he could hear his sobs and desperate pleas to be saved. He would love tying him up. He would do what Bakura did to him and keep him on his back so that he could see what he was doing, and kiss him all over, all the while knowing the cruelty he was putting him through. He would be his slave, and nobody would be there to save him.

Mariku exhaled heavily, keeping his eyes on Malik's face and Malik's body, chewing on his bottom lip a bit as he pumped his hand up and down himself faster, using his other hand to lightly play with his testicles. And it wasn't as if it was hard to imagine that his hands were actually Malik's. His fantasy changed a bit from flipping Malik over onto his stomach and shoving his face into the mattress while he fucked him hard, listening to his heart-wrenching cries and feeling the rope that kept Malik bound every so often to the fantasy of his loving Malik. The one where Malik was like Bakura and did horribly dirty things to him, but was a bit more kind.

"W-why won't this just end?" Mariku could hear faintly Malik's voice through his sobs and choked sounds, his shoulders having stayed still for a while. "W-why is this happening to me? G-god… I just want to be left alone…"

Mariku's mouth was open slightly as he watched him, not really thinking about anything other then how he could move his hand to make himself get off better, or how beautiful Malik was, sitting right before him. Every fantasy he had been imagining extirpating, Mariku pumped himself faster, feeling a bit of precum on his hand, and focused solely on Malik, the real Malik. Because this was the Malik who he loved, this one was the real one, the others from his fantasies were just imposters.

This Malik was the Malik who did such horribly wonderful things to him, and this was the Malik who had set him off so far that he was on the edge of orgasm, masturbating at work while watching him cry.

"Why won't he leave me alone? What have I done? I-I'm so scared…"

God, he felt so good right then… He had spread his legs a bit to touch himself better, and even his hand then felt amazing, because he could imagine that it was Malik. He could imagine that it was the Malik who he was watching right then touching him. He could imagine that it was _him_ who was teasing the head of his penis while rolling his balls in his hand, looking up with him with pretty purple eyes. It was Malik who gripped him hard and pumped him furiously up and down, leading him closer to climax, the one who was making him writhe in his chair with pleasure and the one who was trying so hard to get him to moan. He couldn't moan, he couldn't moan, he couldn't let Malik hear him…

Mariku gulped and felt his mind start to become hazy with pleasure, eyes unfocussing a bit as he watched his Malik. Malik, Malik! He could almost feel Malik beneath him, could touch him and run his hands over him… He could imagine Malik straddling his lap, and could imagine himself placing his hands on his hips and lowering him down onto his erection, holding him there and not letting him getting away from him.

"Mmm…" He could feel his hand being Malik, and would fuck him so hard and fast that Malik wouldn't know what to do with himself, and would only be able to lean his head on Mariku's shoulder and take it. He would move him up and down, feel his thighs tremble next to him from the physical exertion, grip his somewhat flaccid penis and work him to the point where he was completely erect. Malik would be making the same noises he would be now, and it would send Mariku _insane_ with lust, just like how he was doing now. Of course, Malik would be incredibly tight, and he would rub against his prostate every so often which would make Malik clench down on him, unused to the feeling, tightening his hand in his hair and choking from pleasure. Mariku's hands would drift a bit from his pretty, skinny hips to his ass where he would grope him, thrusting up faster into him and pulling him harder down onto his erection, repeating the cycle for an endless amount of time.

Eventually the euphoric feeling would start becoming a bit to much, and Mariku would loose all sense of rhythm and move his hands back to his hips, thrusting into him harder and faster and even a bit crueler. He would kiss his shoulder and the junction of his neck, always, always listening to his cries, the ones Malik was making in real life just adding to his building climax. Malik would be hot and soft against him, so close with his thighs on either side of him and his chest pressed up against him, bucking his hips against his hand to try and get more friction then what Mariku would currently be providing as they started to reach climax.

He could see Malik now, starting to stop his crying, and Mariku moaned as quietly as he could, the heat in his abdomen becoming unbearable. And then watching as Malik looked up to the place where Mariku was so that he could almost imagine he was looking at him, Mariku hissed and thrust hard one last time, cumming all over his hand. His toes curled a bit and his muscles tensed up, relaxing almost instantaneously as he slumped back against the chair, his mind hazy. He didn't really feel anything other then the absolute pleasure of orgasm, just closing his eyes and breathing, listening to Malik's quiet sniffs and whimpers.

Staying like that for a while, Mariku eventually forced himself to get up, tucking himself back into his pants. Grimacing a bit at the cum on his hand and a bit that had gotten onto his clothes and floor, Mariku knew he had to be quick getting to the bathroom to clean it up. Looking around just to make sure there was no one there, he left his corner and walked back into the main isle. Not expecting anyone else to be there, Mariku made a surprised noise as he bumped into someone, fearfully wondering if they had seen what he had done.

"Sorry, I must not have been watching where I was going.

"…It's…okay."

Malik looked up at him, his eyes still a bit sad and red from his little moment of breaking down, and he glanced away quickly. But Mariku's eyes did not leave him, and he regretted not grabbing his arm and keeping him from walking away. Watching him as he still walked a bit dejectedly out of the bookstore, Mariku sighed when the door closed behind him, the little bell ringing with his departure. He wouldn't complain, though. He had gotten to see so much that day… And he was completely satisfied from masturbating and then touching Malik almost directly after. His mood better as he thought about this, Mariku hummed a bit as he went to get a paper towel to clean up the evidence of his love for his boy. Malik loved him back, after all. He loved him so much that he cried for the letter he had given him that day and the love he gave him.

-

"Hey."

"Hey."

It was a ritualistic greeting between them as Mariku heard the door open and close, signaling Bakura's return home. Their fight had been short lived.

"Get anything done?"

"Nothing much, really."

Bakura took off his shoes and coat like always, putting them away not so neatly, and throwing his coat onto the couch next to Mariku who sat watching T.V.

"What about you?"

"Nothing much, really."

Bakura's expression was neutral as he leaned over the couch to look at him, and Mariku looked up at his face. Grabbing the back of his head, Mariku pulled him down to kiss him.

"You hungry?"

"I guess. Your treat?"

His company was instantly relaxing as he sat next to him and on top of his coat, leaning over to rest his head on his shoulder and fiddling with the corner of the couch pillow. Bakura was such a familiar part of his life.

"Sure. What do you want?"

"I don't really care."

There was something a bit off about him, and it showed through the affection he was showing him then. Bakura was never one to act close, and he hardly touched him apart from sex. Mariku wasn't used to him being warm or kind or… normal.

"Okay, I'll go make something now."

"…Wait."

Mariku was confused when Bakura grabbed onto his sleeve when he made a move to get up. His head down, Bakura spoke softly.

"Don't go yet, okay? I just got home…"

"Don't go? I'm just going to make dinner."

Bakura did not reply, but only tightened his hold on his sleeve more. There was something wrong with him, which was instantly obvious because of his odd behavior, but Mariku didn't know what it was, and sat back down.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not going to leave you."

Shifting closer to him, Bakura pressed himself up against him, and Mariku tentatively wrapped his arm around his shoulders, wondering why he was suddenly so… needy. Bakura was completely independent, and for him to be acting this way… something was defiantly wrong.

"Don't _ever _leave me. Please don't leave me."

"I told I wouldn't. I wouldn't ever leave you, Bakura. I love you."

Bakura tensed a little bit at his words, pausing, and then moved to push Mariku back against the couch so that his head rested on the arm rest, and Bakura was positioned between his legs. He didn't resist him when he did this, knowing the way that Bakura worked and knowing he would most likely punish him in some way if he did so.

"You don't love me."

"How can you say that? You've always been with me…"

He looked at him sadly, and his white blonde hair obstructed part of his face. Fiddling with the button on his jeans, Bakura unbuttoned them and pulled down his zipper.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you how much _I_ love you."

It felt wrong when Bakura took his flaccid penis into his hands and began to jerk him off, Mariku biting his lip. It felt wrong for it to feel wrong… But… having just came to Malik hours earlier, it just seemed _wrong_; to both of them.

"Bakura, don't-"

"You said you loved me!"

He looked up at him pleadingly, like he was begging for him to accept him, and Mariku was taken aback. Bakura never pleaded… what was going on? What had happened to him?

"I do, but I just don't-"

"Then let me do this!"

He tried to look angry, to intimidate him and return to his normal personality, but it didn't work and it made him come off only as more sad than normal, coupled with how unusual it was to see the expression. Pumping him up and down faster, it was as if Bakura was trying to desperately make him become erect, and since he was skilled, it worked fast.

Bakura said nothing more to him as he worked his passion physically, taking him into his mouth and bobbing his head up and down his erection, having pulled his pants completely off. His fingers traced along the inside of Mariku's thighs, running over his skin softly so that it almost tickled, but was palpable enough that it satisfied him. Like always, Bakura was good with his hands, and even better with his mouth, his tongue doing things to him that Mariku doubted he could do as well in return. His other hand was occupied with pumping his own erection, and Mariku groaned at the thought and feeling of what was happening to him, keeping a hand tangled in Bakura's hair, making sure that he did not pull.

Everything about Bakura was perfect and wonderful. He was his everything, and he filled in the spaces that Malik did not, and could not, occupy. He was the person who had gone through everything along with him, and who was the one who would always touch him and hold him when Malik could not. Bakura, Bakura… He loved Bakura so much. Clenching his hair in his hand, Mariku couldn't resist pushing him down onto his erection as he thrust up, cumming hard inside his mouth.

Mariku moaned, and Bakura sputtered a bit, but did not choke, coming to orgasm shortly after. He felt his mouth leave him, and felt his hot breath on his abdomen, having swallowed all of his cum. His hand was sticky with his own release as he moved to lay on top of him, smearing a bit of it onto his cheek. Resting his head on his chest, they said nothing as they breathed together in the haze of orgasm. Keeping his head turned to the wall, Bakura was the first one to speak after he recovered.

"I love you."

"…Why did you do that?"

His words were forced, finding it easier to just not talk since he was tired from exertion. Hand staying in Bakura's hair, he played with it a bit, touching the side of his face gently, knowing that once Bakura recovered from his somewhat vulnerable state, that he wouldn't let him touch him so lovingly afterwards.

"…Can Malik do that for you?"

"No; is this what this was about?"

Bakura clenched his hand that rested next to his side, not looking up at him as he tensed. Continuing to reassure him with touches, Mariku couldn't see the expression on his face.

"I don't want you to leave me. Please don't leave me. I'll be better for you, I swear…"

"I'm not going to leave you, Bakura."

He could tell that he was crying when his hand brushed his cheek, and there was a trail of wet tears there. And Mariku couldn't help but feel guilty. But… he loved Malik, he really, really did, and he couldn't choose… he couldn't leave one for the other.

"You will, I know you will. I know this, but… Please don't leave me. I know you love him, but please don't leave me, Mariku. You're all that I have; please, please… I hate him. I hate him so much. I'm scared for him…"

"It's…okay. I'm not going to leave you, ever. Even if I… am ever able to have him with me, I'll never leave you. I love you, Bakura. I always have, and I always will."

In the end, everything boiled down to Malik, always. He was a constant part of Mariku's life, when he was with him, and away from him. And while Mariku held Bakura as he cried in front of him for one of the first times of his life, Mariku wondered how everything he told Bakura had been true, but felt so fake on his tongue.

* * *

It had been one day. One day since Malik remembered himself hating Mariku. He hated him, he feared him, and he had loathed him more then anything in the entire world. He had wanted him to die, and he had wanted to be the one to kill him. Hate… Malik didn't hate him anymore. He had saved himself from hate, because that was what had been destroying him all along, not Mariku. Mariku did nice things for him, wonderful things, but he had been too blinded by his hate to see it. It was as if every negative thing that he had felt in the past two months had left him instantly when he rewired his mind, fixing it to save himself, and fixing it so that he could see the truth.

There was no more anxiety or depression, no terror or the slow creeping insanity that ate at him from staying in the same, ever white room constantly. Everything was just…gone. Extirpated from his mind. Malik felt lost in a sense, though. Because to have those same emotions with him constantly for so long, and then to have them leave was scary. He felt like there was something fundamental missing in from his being and mind. Something, something…

But it wasn't just all take and no give. His hatred and anxiety had been taken from him, but he had been given a second chance to live. Malik felt like he could breathe now. He could lie back against his carpet, close his eyes and _breathe_, the pollution that had been clogging his mind gone. It was easier to live now, and everything felt warm. His room was no longer a suffocating cage with sharp edges and a holding place of his every fear. His room was now how it was in actuality. It wasn't dark or terrifying, it was light and warm, soft colors and smooth walls, comforting. He didn't mind it anymore, waiting for Mariku to visit him to take away the boredom as he read, and Malik felt like his mind had been renewed; 'restore to factory settings.'

And maybe what Mariku had done to him hadn't been wrong at all. Maybe Mariku had been right all along, that everything he had done had been because he loved him. When he had kidnapped him, made love to him, touched him, stal-. Maybe it was what he had needed. He had needed for someone to teach him how to feel again, how to live. Because he appreciated the world so much more now, unlike he had before. And of course, Malik loved him. This was the greatest thing that he had accomplished, over everything else he had done, he was now able to see the truth. The truth was that Mariku was right, and he had been horribly, horribly wrong. Mariku had said that he would love him, and he did. He _had_ to love him. He loved him, he loved him, he needed to love him. Because if Malik didn't love him, then-

"You're smiling."

"I am?"

"I missed that."

Mariku was so gentle, his voice and the way that he looked at him was more loving then what Malik could imagine. He loved him, he really did. He loved that he loved him and that he did so much for him…

It was a slow day, that morning, quiet, with nothing to do. It was light outside as Malik sat on his bed, staring out the window to the forest surrounding the house. He wanted to go outside. Malik had never been to a forest before, and now that he was finally near one, he wanted to appreciate it. But until, as Mariku said, he could trust him fully, he would still be confined to the house. It wasn't as if he couldn't trust him, as Mariku said, it was just that he wanted to take things slowly, and introducing him to the outside would come about eventually, not sooner.

"I feel like I should tell you something."

"Like what?"

"…Never mind. I'll save that for later, Habibi."

Habibi… Did Mariku really know Arabic, or was it just that he knew only a few phrases? Maybe Malik would ask him sometime. Wanting to change the still atmosphere just a bit, he moved his hand from his lap to rest on the bed, next to him. Mariku looked over at him, turning his head, but Malik did not glance his way, only kept staring out the open window.

"But you still know that I love you, right, Malik?"

"…Yes."

He knew that he loved him, he did, and he knew that he loved him back, but still Malik was…cautious. There was just something in him that remained wary, that cowered a bit whenever Mariku spoke those three words. He couldn't help it, it was just wired into him. And he supposed that, in the same sense, his phobia of touch was something that he could never get rid of. He couldn't _help_ it that when Mariku moved his hand over to hold his, that he recoiled almost instantly.

"Why are you scared?"

"I…-" Malik tore his eyes from the window to look over at him, diverting his gaze almost instantaneously when he saw the expression on Mariku's face.

"Why are you scared, Malik? Why are you always scared of me to touch you?" He looked a bit hurt, and moved in a bit closer to him, making him uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry…" Sighing, Malik hung his head and turned it to the side, not really wanting to have his attention on him then and at the topic now at hand. He didn't want to talk about this… It wasn't something that needed to be discussed, it was something that just _was. _"It's not your fault, I just… I can't… …I'm scared." The last part was whispered, and he glanced up to see Mariku's face and the reaction to his words.

There was silence, then, and Mariku said nothing to him. It made Malik nervous, and on a sub-conscious level, he wondered if forcing himself to love Mariku would really save him or not from his abuse. Shifting again, Malik looked to the blank, white wall next to his bed, now aware of every little move Mariku made. The subject matter made him nervous, scared, and he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to bring up his fears, or…what had…caused them. And even if Malik did love him, it had only been two days since he had realized this, and it was too early to talk about such things.

Moving to stand up, Mariku grabbed his arm suddenly by the wrist, stopping anything he might have done and making him freeze instantly when he placed his hand on his chest. Malik's heart beat fast and his eyes widened, facing Mariku to stare at him in terror. Mariku looked calmly back at him, not once moving, a serious expression on his face.

"Does this scare you, Malik?" His voice was quiet, but it was not the tone that he used on him that reminded him how you might talk to a child. "Does it scare you to touch me, to have your hand on me?"

Malik felt sick, terror churning in his stomach, and he clenched his hand into a fist so that he couldn't feel all of Mariku's chest on his palm, just the top of his fingers. "…Y-yes." It was a bit easier to cope with touching when it was not his palm that connected with skin. Since his palm was more sensitive then his knuckles or fingers, he was more at ease when he made a fist out of his hand, although, he was still scared…

"Why, Malik?" Mariku's voice held a bit of pleading sadness in it, but it was hard to hear and Malik almost missed it. His grip on his wrist tightened a bit. "Why won't you tell me why you're so scared of contact? I've been touching you for so long… You know that I won't hurt you, so why are you still scared?" He continued to stare hard at him, moving in a little closer.

"I can't tell you." Malik's voice became a whisper, looking up at him through his bangs. "Please… just…don't- stop it. I just don't like it when people touch me. I don't want to talk about this…"

"I can't drop it, Malik! This is serious! I deserve to know why you're so scared, why you won't let me just touch you. And I'm not just another person. I _care_ about you, I _love_ you. I touch you because of that. Tell me why."

"I can't." He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows slightly, and tried pulling his hand back, despairing when Mariku did not let go. "I can't, I can't, I can't… please don't make me. Please stop asking me. Don't touch me…"

Mariku looked hurt as he spoke quietly, but it was something that Malik had to say. He seemed to listen to his words, thinking over them, and his shoulders untensed just a bit. "Okay, my Malik. I won't make you say."

Sighing, Malik smiled just a bit, and tried to move his hand gently away once again. But when Mariku still refused to let go, his expression dropped back to his worried frown. Trying to jerk away again, Malik protested, but Mariku cut him off.

"You say that you don't like people touching you." His eyes were closed, and his voice was calm, rubbing his thumb over the top of his wrist. "And although I don't understand, I'll accept your answer until you wish to tell me. But," Mariku looked up at him, then, and he was once again serious, "if you're scared of people touching you, then are you scared of touching them out of your own free will?"

"Ye-"

"No, listen to me." He cut him of sharply, and Malik gulped, not liking or knowing exactly what he was talking about. Of course he was scared. The feeling of contacting skin against him scared him horribly, made him physically sick; what difference did it make if he was the one doing the touching? "You're scared of having people touch you because it makes you feel out of control. But, Malik, if you're the one who does the touching, then everything you do is all under your control. It's your actions and your wants, and nobody would be forcing you to touch them in any way that you don't want." Mariku paused, and Malik was reminded of his dominance over him. "I want you to touch me."

There was something a bit off to him, something that made him nervous apart from the feeling of his skin on his chest. Something that Malik couldn't really explain, but could feel every inch of. His heart rate had calmed down considerably, but still his eyebrows stayed furrowed. Touch him… Touch, contact… How could he do that? H-how could he _touch_ him?

"I'll help you, Habibi." Mariku's smile was kind as he rubbed his wrist with him thumb again. "You're not alone, I'll help you overcome your fear."

An agreement wasn't needed when Mariku moved his other hand to force his fist to uncurl, straightening out his fingers so that his hand once again laid flat against his chest. Mariku didn't need Malik to agree with him to make him do what he wanted from him. After all, even if Malik did love him, things were still the same, and Mariku didn't need Malik to consent to what he wished. Malik grit his teeth together in fear as he once again felt his palm on Mariku's chest, breaths coming in a bit erratically.

"Is this so bad?" His voice was quiet again as he moved his hand slowly over his chest, holding onto his wrist with both his hands, keeping him from drawing away and pulling his trembling fingers off of him. "Does this hurt you? Are you scared of this?"

Malik squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for Mariku to leave him alone and just talk to him as he had been doing before. He didn't like this, he didn't like this, he didn't like feeling Mariku's warm body beneath his hand, or the way that Mariku's skin felt soft against his wrist. "Yes…"

He seemed put off by this, but didn't stop, and continued to force Malik to touch him. It was soft and quiet, and Malik supposed that if it weren't for his phobia, touching Mariku now might be incredibly pleasant. He was being kind, and he moved his hand slowly across his chest, not forcing him to do anything incredibly drastic. Forcing himself to calm down and untense, Malik closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, rubbing his legs together nervously.

It went on like that for a while, and it got to the point where Malik could forget that they were actually _touching_ so much that he had his hand on him. But Mariku seemed to realize this, and wanted to move a step farther. Having been almost at ease with what had been happening, Malik opened his eyes instantly when he felt Mariku's skin under his fingers, not just his shirt. Jerking back out of reflex, Malik's hand shook as Mariku still refused to let him go.

"Sh…" Mariku shushed him, holding his hand underneath his shirt where he had unbuttoned it. "This is no different, Malik. You've been touching me all this time, the difference between skin and cloth is nothing to be scared of. Just calm down and relax, Malik."

"I-I can't." His breathing just short of hyperventilation came back, and his fingers trembled, curling back into a fist, terrified of touching him.

"Yes you can. It's okay, it's just skin, _my_ skin. I love you, Malik."

He made a protesting noise, continuing to keep his hand in a fist, and squeezed his eyes shut once again. He could touch Mariku's chest so long as there was a separation of skin, as long as there was cloth between them. But when there was nothing there to keep him from _feeling_ him, it- it- it terrified him.

But Mariku was kind that day, and he did not force him to uncurl his hand until his fingers started to cramp, and Malik knew he would have to unfurl his hand. Regretfully, his fingers uncurled and his palm was once again flat against his chest, resting flat on the top of his skin. He could feel Mariku breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, and the heat between his hand and his skin wasn't as terrifying as it had been when Mariku had first touched him. And maybe he was right. He had been right before, after all. Maybe Malik really just needed to conquer his fears… Smoothing out his fingers against him, Mariku sighed in approval.

"There's nothing to be scared of, Malik." Satisfied with Malik's shaky consent, Mariku started to move his wrist again, pushing his hand to travel across other parts of his bare chest. It felt different like this, of course, and Malik always had that same still phobia and sickness when he felt skin, but in all, it wasn't as terribly horrifying as he had thought. Mariku loved him, after all.

Mariku's skin was smooth and soft, and his chest was masculine, Malik feeling a twinge of jealousy when he realized that Mariku's body was something that he had, at one time, was the kind that he had aspired to having. He could feel his heart beat when his hand moved directly over his heart, and he felt more human that way, not just a thing that spoke and moved and breathed, but actually _alive. _And although touching him terrified him, it was… bearable.

"You see?" Mariku's voice was quiet once again, and he had closed his eyes, smiling softly. "Nothing's going to happen to you. I'm yours, Malik. Everything I have is yours, and you can touch me, too. I won't hurt you."

It unnerved him a bit when Mariku forced his hand to run over his nipple, and he could hear a soft intake of breath from him, but Mariku's hand continued to move his own across his chest. He was forced to touch his sides, now, and Mariku had unbuttoned his shirt to give him more access. His finger traced the skin laying over the junction of the pectoral and intercostal muscles, opening his eyes to glance up at him. The same smile still on his face, Mariku's eyes remained closed.

And just like how he had grown used to touching his clothed chest, Malik grew used to touching his bare skin, and did not resist when Mariku moved his hand so that he traced down his stomach and abdomen. Except, Mariku had taken his hands away long ago, and it was only Malik now. He was in control of everything he was doing. Mariku was always right; he didn't mind touching him, like this.

"Do you love me?" Mariku opened his eyes half way, Malik's flicking up to meet them.

"…Yes." Always, he was slow answering that question.

"Hmm." He made a sort of approving noise, not really accepting, but saying 'I understand.' "Then you won't think of anything. You won't think of your fears or hindrances. You will do this for me, and you will love me as you do it."

"…Okay." And Malik consented as Mariku unbuttoned his pants and pulled his hard erection out. Malik consented as Mariku held both of his hands in his own and placed them on him. He consented as Mariku moved them up and down his penis, groaning as he did so. There was consent as Mariku's hands left his, and Malik was the only one touching him, letting him thrust into his hands as Mariku leaned his head against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. He consented as Mariku instructed for him to do such with his hands, and whispered horrible things into his ear. And Malik consented when Mariku moaned and kissed him deeply, cumming all over his hand and onto Malik's stomach.

Malik consented because Malik loved him. …Right?

* * *

**Hmm, Mariku sure does get sexually stimulated a lot this chapter, eh? The emphasis in this chapter is how much sex plays a part in Mariku's life. I wanted to show his fucked up mentality of it. There's three different times he gets off, in three different situations, and so this chapter is pretty much just how his mind works through it. Although sex is physical, I always deal more of the psychological aspects of things, so that's what I'm really playing on.**

**And Malik isn't really going through Stockholm Syndrome. Stockholm Syndrome comes on gradually, not suddenly. What Malik did was sort of a 'flight or fight' tactic, where he made himself believe that Mariku loved him and he loved him back, not that he really does. Although, his mind consciously acts like he loves him. His subconscious mind knows the truth. I just didn't know what word to use to describe his sudden 'love.' Also, his aphephobia/fear of touch isn't cured. At all. But he uses his 'love' to try and save himself from his phobia. Because if he loves him, he wouldn't be scared of their connecting skin, right? At this point, Malik will do whatever it takes to save himself.**

**My 145 reviews. May I has them?**


	20. Chapter 2o

**Wow... twenty chapters already. Never would have imagined Thanks to all of my reviewers that have stuck with me so far. Love you all. Woo. Late update. School started for me so it's been tough getting back into the lingo. …Does anyone even read these author's notes?**

* * *

The waiting room was very quiet. There was nobody else besides Malik other than a young woman and her son, who was sleeping on her lap as she fanned herself with a bent magazine. The room was stuffy as well as it was plain. Since it was cold outside, the heater was turned on inside, but it quickly went from relieving to uncomfortable as Malik wished that he had worn a short sleeved shirt.

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling to trace the little raised patterns with his eyes. His fingers twitched a bit, and he shifted. Why had he come here…? He felt stupid, silly, and scared. He didn't need help, he really didn't… All he needed was someone to talk to, but- he had come regardless.

Shrugging off his coat, Malik moved to hold it in his lap as he waited a bit impatiently. He hadn't told Isis or Rishid where he had gone. He couldn't allow them to know. Because if they knew that he had gone to see a psychotherapist, they would start to ask questions, and Malik couldn't let them get involved in… his problems. He didn't want them to be involved. Malik didn't want anyone else to suffer or worry other than himself. After all, it was his problem, and his alone.

Malik looked over to the table of magazines that rested next to his chair. He contemplated looking through one, but none seemed to hold his interest, so he left them alone. Besides, he didn't think he could concentrate on them, anyway. Too many things were going through his head. So Malik resumed staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes after a while, running his fingers over his coat. He hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. Which was normal for a teenager, but his reasons for it weren't as normal.

Tired and uncomfortable, Malik jumped a little bit when he heard the door to the waiting room open.

"Malik Ishtar?" He looked at the secretary who wore a neat and well pressed outfit before replying. She looked down at her clipboard and made a small note before looking back up. "Come with me. Dr. Herbert is waiting to see you for your appointment." He stood up as the woman opened the door for him. Malik carried his coat close to him in a subconscious way of consoling himself. It gave him something to do with his hands, anyway.

It was a short walk through the halls, and Malik grew nervous as he passed each door. The building smelled very new, and completely sterile. Like it really was a doctor's office. Malik wasn't sick… But he stopped when the woman did, and let her open the door in front of them for him. Thanking her, he smiled politely and stepped into the room.

It was a light room with cream colored walls. Nothing seemed to be very sharp, and it was a bit comforting. Malik guessed the least. Another woman sat behind a desk directly in front of him. She looked straight laced, but kind, and had a professional air about her. A gold name plate resting on the table said that she was indeed Dr. Herbert. Looking around the room, Malik felt uncomfortable standing in the center, not wanting so much attention.

"Please sit down." She gestured to a chair in front of her desk, and Malik was eager to do so. Sitting down, Malik got comfortable and made sure to keep his coat in his lap to hide the way that his finger tapped repeatedly from his nerves.

"So…" She started off almost immediately, and Malik gulped a bit. "Would you like to tell me a bit about yourself, Malik?"

He shifted nervously in his seat, glancing up a bit, and then looking away when he saw her looking at him. He mumbled a bit before giving a proper reply. There really was no reason to be so scared and nervous. Maybe she could help him…

"I don't know… I'm in tenth grade, and, uh, I- do I really have to say?" Frowning a bit, Malik broke off what he was going to say early. He didn't want to talk about himself. He didn't want her to know about him. He just wanted her to help him deal with his depression and stress. And maybe she could figure out how to help him without him out rightly saying that he was being stalked.

"Well, no, I just thought that it would help you relax a little. You seem very tense." She frowned as well, moving her elbows off of he desk to set her hands on her lap. "But it's okay if you don't want to. I'm here to help you, not to make you uncomfortable."

But the silence that stretched afterwards was. Malik regretted going to see her as the seconds ticked by, accented by the noise of the clock hanging on the wall. Wanting to do something other then look around nervously, Malik focused his attention on the plant on her desk, staring at it, and nothing else.

As he heard her clear her throat after a while, Malik looked back up to meet her eyes, soft frown still on his face. "So…" She started off again, "your counselor recommended you to come see me. I've heard that you were a straight A student, top of your class. But your grades started to drop, and your teachers noticed you sleeping in school. You talked to your counselor, and you said something personal was going on in your life. Would you like to talk about that, first?"

Malik paused a bit. How should he start…? Glancing down unhappily at the fact that her words were true, Malik sighed. "I don't… know… I can't tell you a lot of it. I mean, I can, but- I'm scared, he said not to…" What would happen if his stalker found out that he went to someone to help him deal with his anxiety?

"'He'?" Dr. Herbert looked at him questioningly, but nice enough that it didn't come off too pushy for information.

This was getting into dangerous territory. "He's… a guy I know. He… doesn't like me to talk about him and us together. And I'm scared of him, but I don't know how to get away from him. And I can't. If I leave him, then he might hurt somebody I know." Scared? Malik was so much more then scared.

"Hmm. Well, if the relationship is abusive, you should leave, Malik. You know that if he ever does anything to threaten you or anyone you know to call the police, right? The last thing you and your family needs is for you to get hurt." There was something distinctly disagreeable with the way that she said 'relationship,' as if she didn't approve that he was in a relationship with another man. But Malik didn't blame her. It wasn't as if he was gay, after all. Malik wasn't attracted to anybody, though. Women, or men. He was… too scared to be.

"Yeah, I know." He pouted slightly at this. It wasn't as if he was stupid. "…But I can't leave him. It's terrifying me. I can't tell my family and I can't tell you… He… writes me all of these things, he won't leave me alone. He's always there when I am, and- I-I'm just so scared. I can't tell you why. I can't tell anybody." Oh man, he sounded so whiny. This wasn't how guys acted… But Malik couldn't stop once he started. He need to tell somebody, anybody! He wanted to yell and cry to someone, to break down and sob over what his life had become. Malik needed support. "I don't love him, but he thinks that I do. He scares me so much, and I never know when he's going to snap. I don't know when he's watching me and when he's not. I don't know if he'll hurt someone close to me. He's all I can think about. I worry constantly. I can't focus on school when I'm thinking about this… I'm so scared…"

Something inside of him clenched in fear and despondency as he spoke. Saying it out loud reminded him of all that had happened. And he hadn't even gone into detail… He couldn't say that he had been being stalked for half a year now. He couldn't say that the man who was stalking him had killed someone for him, had slashed his tires and sent sexually deviant letters to him. That they threatened his family and his friends, and told him that he wanted to kill Joshua. That… he planned on 'rescuing him from his life' when he turned sixteen, on his birthday. Petrified. Malik was petrified. And it showed. But he could never tell. He only just hoped that this woman could help him, say something to him that would help him leave. But… how could he leave when he was never with him in the first place?

She seemed a little taken aback. Something had obviously been wrong for him to be visiting her in the first place, but he doubted that she had known on what level of stress he had been going through. Even still… could she understand the level of seriousness that his situation was? But Malik always overreacted. His situation wasn't that serious… he was just too much of a coward to deal with it. It was why he was so weak. He was so weak that he couldn't even defend himself from someone who had yet to hurt him. So why was he overreacting so much? Why did he feel as though he could collapse at any moment? It was more then stress. It was the feeling of absolute depression. Malik was so worthless.

"Just leave him, Malik. Tell him that it's over, don't be scared. It seems that you feel obligated to stay with him because he's something familiar. Your teacher had said that you moved all the way from Egypt only a couple of years ago. Maybe it's the stress from your new life that makes it so that you think you have to continue to be with him even through his threats. Maybe you think that he could help you in some way." She really didn't understand. She didn't understand at all.

"No, it's not that! I just can't… I don't know how I'm supposed to explain this… But I _know_ that he's going to kill someone if I tell him 'no'. He doesn't understand, you see. I think that there's something sincerely wrong with him. He's already so violent. And I just- don't- know what to do. I don't know why I'm here… I don't know why it's made me like this. Why can't I deal with this!? Why is this fucking my life up so much!? I'm just scared and I don't know what to do." Malik moaned, putting his face into face into his hands. When he explained it, it seemed to trivial, and showed just what a helpless person he was. Malik had never been helpless before… It was disgusting.

"Malik… everything aside, if he's that dangerous, you have to tell somebody. You can't continue this relationship. I know you fear for your friends and family, but if you tell somebody, it will be okay, and he won't hurt them." She did look a bit worried now. But it was slight. She'd probably dealt with worse cases, and ones more worthy of sympathy then Malik's.

This was turning out badly, the way that he thought it might have. She wasn't helping him, she was just getting into it. She thought that he needed to be saved. Just as _he_ thought… But she wasn't helping. She wasn't giving him ways to help him deal with his anxiety. Instead of focusing on his psychological terrors, she was focusing on his physical ones, the reasons for his… everything.

"You don't understand… You don't understand…" He was starting to get a bit mad, now, wanting to leave. He didn't want to hear her tell him that it was so easy for him to leave. That it was all within his ability. Because when she said that, it made him feel as though he really was as weak as he thought; because he couldn't. "I can't leave him. He won't let me leave. He'll always be there, he won't let me go." This was the breaking point, now. "…I can't leave him, because I don't know who he is. He's… stalking me."

Malik squeezed his eyes shut, terrified as to what her reply would be. This was it, he couldn't go back now. And… he had admitted it. He admitted that he was being stalked. His stalker was going to kill him, or somebody else.

"He's stalking you, Malik? Well if that's the case, I can help you much more now that you've told me the real reasons behind this relationship." She seemed to be more accepting now that she learned that he wasn't willingly with another man. Malik was disgusted. Even if he wasn't gay, it was still no reason to be prejudiced…

Malik paused. He had just admitted to being stalked. It was open, public. It could spread. His stalker could find out. His stalker could be waiting for him to leave the building, and then force Dr. Herbert to tell him what he had said. He had gone to someone for help, and he said that it wasn't allowed. No… no… What had he done? How had he let himself do this? What was wrong with him!? He couldn't say anything else… Malik had to leave.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Malik looked up at the educated woman before him. "I… I'm sorry, but… I-I have to leave now. I shouldn't have even come here…" He mumbled the last bit, slow with picking up his coat. Standing up and starting to walk to the door, he heard her speak behind him.

"Malik, I can help you! If you just tell me why you're doing this, I can get you help! You don't have to live with this, Malik! …I know that victims of stalking often feel as if it's their fault. But it's not. Please, Malik, just stay, and I can help you." Her professional attitude dropped for a moment, allowing her to act as if she was sincerely worried. But Malik knew better. Doctors were always like that. She was no different.

"I'm sorry… Thank you, though. Please don't tell my counselor. That's all I ask of you. I'll just continue to deal with this on my own. I've been doing it for so long, anyway…" Looking back at her one last time, Malik sighed and shut the door behind himself.

He leaned against it and exhaled, looking up at the ceiling before shrugging on his coat and zipping it up. Walking back out through the hallway, he didn't reply to the words spoken by the secretary, not giving her even a simple smile. Opening the door to the waiting room, the mother and her son were gone, and he continued on until he was outside.

The chill of the wind hit him hard, and he shivered, feeling despondent and hopeless. He stared at his feet as he kicked a pebble on the concrete parking lot. Malik didn't want to feel like this… But… He was so scared… And it seemed as though no one else could help him. He was alone. Truly, truly alone.

Getting ready to start walking back home, Malik stopped when he felt the pocket of his coat vibrate. Jumping just a little from shock, Malik reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone Joshua had bought for him. Flipping the screen up and going to his inbox, Malik read the text message that had been sent to him.

'_Hey, want to go to the movies with me? We haven't done anything recently and I sort of miss you… I heard about a good horror on TV. How about it?_'

Malik smiled softly, the wind whipping his hair around his face. At least he had somebody… Even if he couldn't confide in them, Joshua was still the best friend he had. His only true friend… And so Malik's fingers moved quickly across the buttons.

'_Okay._'

-

Malik never knew how to describe how it felt to wake up. There weren't words to fit with his actions, only ideas. Only thoughts and emotions. Only memories and fear for the future. It wasn't something that was reflected on, it was just something that was done.

The world of waking was always warm. It was comforting, and Malik always took a long time in opening his eyes. He never wanted to move, wanting only just to stay on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness. His fingers twitched against the cotton of his blanket before fisting his hand into it and pulling it closer around him. The soft light of morning didn't hurt against his eyes, but was gentle and only served as something to gently coax him awake. But making him wake was cruel and sadistic. To force him back into the world he had been taken into unwillingly… It was ironic only in a sense.

Malik continue to lay in bed, not wanting to move, and only did so to shift every so often. Making a small noise in the back of his throat, he squeezed his eyes tighter against his awakening consciousness. Malik sighed against the battling feelings of comfort and terror. He felt warm and comfortable, not wanting to start the day. But he had to. He had to get up and face life. He couldn't stay in bed all day, and he was nervous as to what would happen if he did so. So newly resolved, Malik slowly opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing his eyes and moaning at the feeling of lost security. Staring dully down at his lap, Malik knew what he had to do to survive, and turned off his mind.

Routinely, he started his day as he had ever since he was a child. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cold ground making him shiver. Stretching as he stood up, he pulled the covers down and then back up, fixing them so that his bed was made well. He opened the window, wincing only a bit at the light. The only reason the light had been tolerable before was because the shutters were still slightly drawn. Without another thought, Malik walked to his bathroom and closed the door, turning on the shower.

Waiting for the water to warm up, he began to slide his shirt up, but froze, his mind going into panic. Only a slight moment of hysteria where he almost broke down in terror before he calmed himself and made sure that he was not thinking again. Malik couldn't think when he did this task. Unhindered, the rest of his clothes came off, and he folded them neatly onto the counter. The water was at first cold against his body before he became used to it as it warmed up. Shampoo and conditioner was lathered into his hair. Standing underneath the shower head, Malik stared dully at the wall as he washed the product from the his hair.

After fifteen minutes, he was content, and stepped back out into the bathroom, making him shiver from the contrasting warm water and cool air. Wrapping his arms around his naked body, the moment of terror was brief before he wrapped a towel around himself. Opening the door after towel drying his hair, he went to his dresser and pulled out his clothes for the day. Buttoning the buttons and straightening out the fabric, Malik only had one last thing to do before the day started, and it was that that was the most important.

Done with the rest of his morning ritual, Malik ended it by moving to sit onto his bed. The mattress squeaking slightly underneath his weight, Malik let his mind turn back on for only this one part of the day before it would be locked away again. Looking out the window, Malik moved his head into his hands, and cried.

-

Mariku groaned as he watched Malik's head fall back, jerking his hips forward hard into him. Malik's face was completely flushed as he closed his eyes, whimpering every time he rocked into him. Everything was hot. Malik felt hot around him. Mariku leaned down to lick Malik's neck, using his hands to spread his thighs farther apart to keep the good pace he had set. Malik's skin was soft as his licks turned to small little bites, nothing too hard to make him bleed, but just enough to show that he was _his_.

The sounds that he made while he made love to him were driving Mariku insane. And Malik was so tight and small and perfect, giving him every feeling and sensation that he could ever wish to want, and had ever dreamed to have. He ran his hands over his chest, pressing his palms down hard. Malik gasped as he touched his erection, rubbing his thumb over the head and smearing the precum down the length of it. Mariku smiled through the overwhelming pleasure as Malik continued to whimper from his touch.

He thrust into him harder, putting his weight onto his knees as he lifted Malik's hips up and held his thighs to keep him steady, to keep him close. Mariku leaned over his Malik's body and licked the side of his mouth before moving to his lips and kissing him. Malik continued to moan every time that Mariku jerked his hips forward through their kiss, tentatively moving his arms to keep a loose hold on Mariku's neck. That alone was what meant more than any sex Malik could give him. He wanted his love.

Breaking away quickly only for a breath that came in heavy through the overwhelming pleasure, Mariku smiled softly as he watched Malik's face as he continued to pleasure him. Malik's eyes were always closed and his eyebrows were always furrowed, his mouth open just a bit and would gasp as Mariku was particularly good and hit his prostate. He made small sounds in the back of his throat when he was thrust into, Mariku moving hard against him so that he rocked back against the bed, fisting his hands into the sheets. His body was tense, and his legs seemed to be stiff, his thighs keeping Mariku close to him, and the hotness of sex made him sweat just a little bit.

Mariku grit his teeth together as Malik tightened around him when he gripped his erection and pumped it up and down, moving his index finger and thumb down to apply pressure along the underside. He was almost to the point where he was delirious. Everything was intense, it felt so good… Malik's body and Malik's skin and Malik's love, the sounds he made and the way he held onto him. Malik would be lost without him. The euphoria of the pleasure of sex and the connection from it; it was all that Mariku really wanted. It said everything he could ever say without words. Because Mariku loved him so, so much. His Malik who moaned and whimpered underneath him as he rubbed against his prostate harder and harder. He wanted this forever, the completeness and the unity.

"I love you." Mariku's voice was breathy as he tried to talk straight, but his words slurred through his heavy breaths. He moved his free hand that wasn't occupied on pleasuring Malik to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his skin. It was times like these that Mariku wanted to cry. He had never truly been happy before. "I love you s-so much. I w-want you so bad… Malik…"

Mariku moved his hand to hold Malik to him as he leaned his forehead onto his shoulder. He continued to thrust into him, kissing Malik's shoulder and chest as he did so, feeling complete and tired, the beginning of orgasm starting to creep up onto him. He liked it like this. He liked being so close to Malik, feeling his skin and kissing it as he made love to him. Mariku liked to be close to Malik's throat, able to hear every small little noise he made. Closeness was what he wanted, and the way that Malik's fingers drifted farther down his back made him insane with passion.

Everything was heightened tenfold when Mariku closed his eyes. Malik's blonde hair was soft against his face and it smelled like lavender, and he smelled like sex. Everything smelled and felt like sex, like Malik. Malik, Malik. His Malik around him and underneath him and next to him who he loved and who felt so good. Mariku moaned against him, feeling shaky from his impending release. But he had to go faster. Because it felt so good and he couldn't end it so quietly. He wanted Malik to scream for him! Opening his eyes to look up at Malik's flushed face, he pushed himself against his chest and kissed him with an open mouth, speeding up the rhythm of his thrusts.

He rocked hard into him with force, relishing in the louder sounds that Malik made and the way that he almost looked pained. Just a little sadism. Mariku broke away and he heard Malik gasp, it quickly turning into a moan as Malik threw his head farther back, his nails sharp as he held onto his back tighter. He took it as a sign for 'more', and Mariku complied easily, moving his free hand next to Malik's head to support himself. Moving his weight onto his arm, Mariku grit his teeth and thrust hard into him, once again rocking Malik back against the headboard, watching as his hands clenched into the sheets when he had taken them off of his back.

The cycle repeated, and every time he moved back into him, the pleasure increased until Mariku didn't know what was what, only that everything was hot and that Malik was there. Malik, Malik. He lost rhythm, completely delirious from the complete pleasure as he jerked his hips against him over and over again. Malik would moan when he was thrust into, and his voice would hitch when he didn't have time to catch a breath when he was thrust against again. Harder every time, it increased like a building wave, and Mariku knew that it would eventually crash down. Wanting to draw out the euphoric feeling as long as he could, he gripped the base of Malik's penis and thrust into him without rhythm, the only thing on his mind pleasuring himself and pleasuring Malik in return.

But he couldn't hold it out any longer, and he had to cum. He had to see Malik's face as he orgasmed. So letting go, he kissed Malik one last time and felt as Malik writhed underneath him, his muscles tensing up. Malik's thighs tightened around him, and he kissed him back with as much force as Mariku did. And breaking it off suddenly, Malik gasped before screaming, cumming all over Mariku's hand and his chest. His body tensing up all over, Malik tightened around him, and Mariku shuddered as he gave in to his own orgasm.

Mariku's mouth stayed open as he came inside of Malik, feeling nothing other than the intense and complete contentment of ecstasy. It took over his body and held him captive. He was powerless against it as it erased everything from his mind other than _feeling._ Total and horrific _feeling._ The feeling of Malik and the feeling of orgasm. The feeling of euphoria, pleasure, and everything he had ever longed for filtered into one wholly powerful space of time. But Mariku's orgasm reminded him of his love, and it was the sole reason which he was able to cum.

Unable to hold himself up, Mariku's muscles gave out on him and he collapsed next to Malik, breathing heavy as his orgasmic haze lingered. He moved his arm to rest upon his forehead, closing his eyes and letting the wonderful feeling stay as long as possible. He felt complete, without anything to care about other than the boy laying next to him. Feeling incredibly worn out and tired, Mariku didn't exactly mind it when his orgasm began to leave him. Everything started to come back to him in little bits. Like the feeling of the blankets around him and the cool air. He could hear little noises that the house made, and he could hear Malik breathing next to him.

Malik…

Mariku was lethargic as he moved his forearm off of his forehead to finger a piece of Malik's hair. He rubbed the strands between his fingers and sighed happily when he dropped them. Leaning his torso up just a little bit, he turned to his side and rubbed his hand down Malik's arm, whose back was turned to him.

"Good morning, my Malik." Mariku whispered in his ear, tucking a piece of hair behind it before kissing the side of his face.

Malik continued to breath heavily, even though it had been a while since he had come. He breathed in the way that you breathed to keep yourself from crying, heavy, and his shoulders shook with it. But Mariku knew that he wasn't. And when Malik turned to look at him, he gave him a small smile. Kissing him shortly, Mariku wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to his chest.

He felt warm, and Malik's heart beat was fast. He could feel him breathing against him, and Mariku felt the familiar feeling of still not fully grasping that he was completely his. It was just something too abstract… Malik was his. That was true, but still… He would never get used to it, and Mariku supposed that that was maybe a good thing. It meant that his love for him hadn't changed just because his 'newness' wore off. Dragging his fingers through his hair, Mariku smiled. He had so much to smile about.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Malik didn't reply, but he didn't mind. It wasn't something that one had to reply to. It was a statement. A fact. Not something that needed to be challenged. And Mariku spoke the truth. Malik was utterly gorgeous and beautiful. "You were wonderful. …I love you so much. I'm going to make love to you every day just so I can have you like this forever."

Small soft things like that were things that Mariku loved to speak. Little things that he could ramble on about, the topic of Malik always being something that he could discuss for hours, even if he would be the only one to talk. He could use so many words to describe him, describe how he loved him, and describe everything he did to him. Malik deserved it, after all. He hadn't been appreciated properly when he lived with his brother and sister. But Mariku knew how to worship him well, and use him to his fullest extent.

Happy with just laying with him, Mariku looked off to the side of Malik's room as he continued to pet his hair, letting Malik rest against him. Which was something he didn't mind at all. He still didn't like how his room was bare, and wondered what Malik would ask for if he finally decided to speak up to him. Malik never asked for anything other than the necessities: food, water, books… Mariku frowned. Didn't he want something more? Mariku remembered Malik buying things with the money he had given him when he had watched him…

He looked down at him. It was only ten in the morning, but Malik already looked as though he could fall asleep at any minute, with his eyes half lowered and his breathing becoming calmer. Mariku smiled at the idea that he had worn him out so much. He twisted some of his hair around his finger, watching the light reflect off of it, making it look lighter then it usually was. Malik shifted against him, and Mariku paused to see if he would say anything, and sighed when he didn't. He wanted to talk to him. But it seemed as though he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. …Like he always did…

"…I'm going to have to leave tonight, Malik." It was a depressing thing to start a conversation out as, but he needed to tell Malik before he forgot. Mariku chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for Malik's reply.

Malik shifted against him again, moving his hand down his chest slightly, making Mariku shiver and pull him closer, loving the feeling of his naked body against his own. His stomach felt a bit sticky, and Mariku remembered that he had cum over himself, and he felt a bit guilty for not cleaning him off like he should have. Maybe Malik would let him bathe him… Mariku gulped at the idea.

"Oh-…kay…" Malik's voice was small and soft, strained. Mariku frowned at this, and brushed it off as of him still being tired.

"That means that I won't be here to take care of you for a couple of days." Saying it out loud made it seem so much worse than it really was. Again it made him feel guilty. He was supposed to take care of Malik… But he had to take care of _things_. And Mariku didn't feel that he could trust Malik enough to take him with him. He knew that Malik loved him, and he had finally gotten him to the point where he admitted it, but… He could still try and run. He could try to go to the police, and he couldn't risk that. "You have to stay here by yourself."

He could feel Malik straighten up just a little bit next to him, and Mariku guessed as to why. Alone… It hurt him horribly to think that Malik still had ideas of running. It made him want to hit him, to punish him for thinking that way. But Mariku couldn't, and would never dare of hurting his Malik. But it did make him want to lock him up and board up his windows. Mariku didn't want to have any chance of Malik running away from him. He didn't want to lose what he had worked so hard for.

"By myself…?" Malik seemed to be confused at this, and Mariku wondered briefly why. It wasn't as if it was that hard to imagine, and Malik was so smart.

"Yes. I can't take you, Malik. I'm sorry, but… I can't trust you just yet. I know that you love me, I do, but- can't you understand?"

But Malik didn't reply to him. Mariku watched as Malik's eyes stared directly at his chest, and he could almost see him thinking, running over his words inside his head as he calculated everything that they meant. Malik's eyes flicked up to his briefly but intensely. They weren't angry, but they weren't soft, either. They were sharp, and held the slightest bit of fear. Entranced by his face, Mariku watched as Malik's lips moved, not hearing his words until later.

"I don't want to be alone with Bakura." Oh… So that was what it was about..

Mariku frowned. He hadn't really thought about that. But he hadn't thought it through well, anyway. He had meant to leave him food enough to keep him sustained, but to keep him locked in his room. Since Bakura had been gone for the past couple of days, his return hadn't been thought about much. But the day he would leave would also be the day that Bakura would come back. And that wasn't good. It wasn't smart, either. Would Bakura try and hurt him? Mariku frowned deeper.

Resuming petting his hair, Mariku sighed and leaned his chin against the top of his Malik's head, relishing the feeling of being close to him and being able to talk to him like he had always wanted, even if the subject matter wasn't as perfect as he had imagined it could have been.

"You'll have to, Malik. I can't have you coming with me. I just can't. …I promise that he won't hurt you, but I can't promise that he won't say anything to you. I'll lock your door, and I'll talk to him about it. The house is big, and I don't think that he would go out of his way to try and hurt you. Don't be scared… I'll be back in a couple of days, but while I'm gone, I need you to stay here, okay?" It hurt him to tell him no. To reject him and tell him that he couldn't come with him.

Malik's hand clenched against his chest, and when he exhaled, he shuddered softly. Mariku sighed when he did so, upset that he was upset. Continuing to try and console him, Mariku wondered just exactly when he would be able to take Malik out of the house. Even if the idea of Malik being his pseudo prisoner was slightly arousing, Mariku didn't plan on keeping him locked inside forever. After all, there were so many places he planned on taking him to…

"It-- It won't work. He hates me, and I-- don't want to- be around him. Please, just let me come with you, I promise that I won't run away. You can rent a hotel and lock the door behind you. You can unplug the telephone and tell the maids not to come in and clean. I can tell you everyway that I could ever think of running away so you can make sure that I won't, but-- please! Please… please don't leave me here with him."

Mariku once again felt guilty as he heard Malik speak. It made him seem as though he came off as the person who was causing Malik so much pain, even though, technically… he was. But still… It wasn't his fault. It was the government's, the city's fault… _Malik's _fault… The only reason he had to leave was because of the investigation that had started to try and find Malik. He had heard about it from Bakura who had heard it from an acquaintance, that Malik's sister had found the letters he had sent to him and that he was now on one of the top positions for 'suspect'. Something about finger printing analysis… He had to cover his tracks, make sure that Malik could never be taken away from him again. Because he could never let that happen, and would do anything to keep him safe with him.

But even if he was convicted, Mariku would stand proudly through trial. He knew he had done nothing wrong. He had done nothing that had ever hurt Malik. He had made his life so much better, had helped him so much, and his love could never be rivaled. The judicial system was not a threat to him. Even if he went through a legal battle, he knew he would win, and it would be just another thing to test his love. And of course, Mariku could prevail. After all, he had… friends… in high places.

And so Mariku could not risk to take Malik with him back to their home city. The risks would be far too great for the benefits, and he would take no chances.

"Malik… I can't. I just can't. You wouldn't understand, and I can't tell you… But listen to what I say. You're staying here, and that's all that I can do. It's not as if I don't _want_ you to come… I love you, Malik. More then anything. But there are things I have to take care of, and you'll have to stay home. I've bought you new books to keep you entertained. Are you happy about that?" Mariku moved Malik's shoulder back so that he could kiss him, distracting him from the idea of Bakura and giving his mouth something to do, preoccupying him with his lips and his hands on his skin.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat when Mariku's lips left his to travel down his neck and to his chest where he kissed him repeatedly. Malik held onto his upper arms as he did this, closing his eyes and making a slightly upset expression. Glancing up at him, Mariku sighed and stopped his kisses.

"I asked you if you would be happy. I want you to be happy… Are you happy with the way I show my love to you?" He laid his head back against the pillow, watching Malik's face as he closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted to pet him again…

"I-…" Malik began to speak, but stopped when the familiar sound of terror crept into his voice. Mariku was immediately taken aback by this, having not heard that sound since Malik had resisted him. And it made him immediately depressed. Why would he make a sound like that…? "I… I'm still scared of… skin and… touching. I can't help it. I'm sorry. I just, I can't, I don't know how-…" He opened his eyes to look up at him, the purple color seeming to be lighter since the light from the window accented them. Malik was so beautiful…

Mariku sighed. He told himself not to become depressed over the current topic, told himself that Malik couldn't help it. And maybe he couldn't. But why…? Was it an excuse to try and make him not touch him? In a way, it was. But Mariku didn't understand. And so he simply had to deal with it. Or at least, he had thought.

He lifted up his hand and reached out to him, watching sadly as Malik flinched when he set his hand on his cheek and stroked his skin. Malik's smooth, dark skin was so beautiful, and he traced the small tattoos he had under his eyes. Mariku smiled at the coincidence that he had the same ones, wondering if his parents had done them at birth like his had, or if he had gotten them done himself. Leaning in close to him, Mariku held his cheek as he kissed him slowly and softly, always loving the way how Malik kissed him back in the smallest of ways.

"Then I'll teach you. I'll teach you not to be scared of my touch. I'll give it to you in portions, slowly and steadily. I'll touch you softly at first, and later I'll touch you harder. I'm going to make love to you every day so that you can become used to my body. I want to use you and love you as much as I can, and help you so that you can do the same. This will fix everything, Habibi. You won't be scared anymore…" Mariku smiled as Malik looked back at him, a blank expression on his face. It was void of any hinting to his reply since Malik's mouth remained shut.

But Mariku was content when he pulled Malik back to him and he did not flinch from their contacting skin. He wanted to make love to him again… Mariku loved times like these so much. Nothing could ever go wrong. This was his perfect life.

"I'll start when I get back. That way you'll be waiting for me. I promise you that once I get back I'll touch you as soon as I can. Touch isn't anything to be scared of, Malik. It's the way that humans show compassion and love to each other… And the more I touch you, the more I love you." His words made him feel better and extirpated the horrible feeling of rejection that he had felt when he heard Malik's fearful voice. Smiling against his forehead, Mariku felt content. "But I'll be gone for days… I think I should make up for the times that I won't be able to touch you, now, don't you think, Malik?"

And of course, Malik didn't reply. But Mariku didn't really mind. After all, making love to Malik twice in the same hour was nothing to complain about as he pushed him back against the bed and resumed touching him. And he would be fine alone… The house was big. Bakura wouldn't have any reason to talk to him, right? But Mariku didn't think of such things. The only thing he thought about that morning was the way that Malik moaned underneath him for the second time, and the way that he spoke so softly 'I love you.' Mariku really did have a perfect life.

* * *

**I didn't like this chapter, but whatever. Anyway, if you haven't noticed, the 'flashbacks' follow the timeline in chapter four. So when Joshua texts Malik saying he wants to go see a horror movie… Well fuck. You fill in the rest.**

**Nothing else to say. This chapter is lacking on the psychological mindfuck scale, so I don't like it much. Blah. But after this chapter, the story starts to really conclude. AND THEN IT'LL FINALLY BE FUN TO WRITE AGAIN. LULUL. …yeah. Fun.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Uuuuuuungh, my BETA is a ho, and has decided not to BETA this now. So I'll have the BETA'd version up tomorrow. Enjoy the crap version now. ...Or not, because I really like this chapter. YAYAYAYAYAFFF**

* * *

"--And so when elected the Holy Roman Emperor, Ferdinand tried to roll back the reformation. As a result, Protestant countries sent troops into Germany. But political motives outweighed religious ones as some Catholic countries jointed the Protestant countries. Sending out mercenaries, they burned villages, destroyed widespread crops, killing more then a third of Germany's population…"

Malik propped his head up by the palm of his hand onto his desk as his teacher rambled on. She had been going for a while, reading straight from the text book, and writing down important notes onto the board. The sound of chalk connecting to the blackboard was somewhat comforting as she scratched it back and forth. Or at least, it slowly began to lull him to sleep.

It was hard to keep his eyes open as Ms. Brian spoke in interest only to herself. His head would lean forward periodically, and his eyes would droop, leaning onto his hand that supported his head. Her voice, eventually, melded into the background noise of the chalk, and Malik began to give in to sleep. He was so tired… He hadn't had a good night of sleep in so long… And at least, if he slept in school, he wouldn't have reoccurring nightmares of- …

Malik sniffed, looking up boredly. His hand stayed still, not writing down any of the notes that filled the board in front of him. He really should. He really, really should. He had to get it together, keep his head in school. But he just couldn't. Malik couldn't concentrate on anything other then his living devils. Always, always they haunted him. Or- _he_ haunted him. History notes paled in comparison to the war in his mind. So letting the drone of his teacher's voice lead him on, Malik let his eyes slowly close.

Letting himself give in to sleep felt really, really good. His eyes no longer burned, and his body almost instantly relaxed, even though he hadn't yet given into unconsciousness. But Malik cheered his body on to do so. It hurt to be in the conscious state of mind and think, after all. Sighing and leaning over, he folded his arms over his desk and tried to get comfortable.

'_Come on, just come on. I only have forty five minutes until Biology…'_

Taking only a couple more minutes, Malik finally felt himself falling asleep, little bits of dream mixing in with his reality. Drifting farther and farther away as his head rested on his arms, Malik jerked up suddenly when he felt something vibrate in his pocket. Sitting straight up and his eyes wide from shock, Malik almost forgot to keep quiet when he realized that it was his cell phone. Looking around to see if anyone noticed his sleepy state or the way that he jerked up so suddenly, Malik glanced quickly up at Ms. Brian before reaching into his pocket and flipping open the screen of his phone.

_Hey, we still going out tonight? _

Malik kept his face blank, typing out his reply. He wasn't fast at texting but he only had one person to text anyway.

_Yeah._

Flipping it closed, he slowly brought it out of his pocket to hold under his desk so that he could look down more easily. Everyone knew that Ms. Brian never caught cell phones anyway. Once she got into teacher mode, her head was absorbed in the lesson. It seemed that she cared more about entertaining herself then she did about actually teaching the students. Malik had cared at one point, back when he still got straight A's…

Malik sighed and looked around the room, his eyes still feeling a bit tired. A girl sat next to him, brown hair, thin, pretty over all, and he looked to see the little word doodles she was doing. The window on his left, he let his eyes drift over the other students in the room, some paying attention, some really just not giving a fuck. Eyes moving to the back of the room, he was going to turn around before his cell phone vibrated again. Glancing down, he knew that he wouldn't get caught.

_Well we won't go unless you keep your head up Malik. Come on. Just that._

Malik smiled. Well, if that was the initiative… Maybe he could forget about his hell for the day. He would at least try.

_Yeah yeah. You're an ass, you know that?_

Turning around, Malik raised an eyebrow at the boy sitting behind him. Smiling, Joshua just shrugged.

-

"Where are we gonna go?" Joshua said, leaning against his locker.

Malik frowned, trying to multitask as he figured out which books he needed to take home, and still keeping his head in the conversation. Picking out his Geometry text book and his English binder, he dumped the rest of his books into his locker before slamming the door shut. Looking at the other boy sharply, his expression softened.

"Well there's that one downtown. It's near my apartment. You know the one- Because I mean, man. I really want to see that movie… and it only plays there…"

"You're really a horror junky, aren't you?" Malik grinned, closing his eyes and shrugging for his reply. Shaking his head, Joshua sighed in mock sarcasm. "Oh, if only I could see what you would do if I said no. But I won't. Because I'm such a good friend, you know?"

"Hmm." Humming and scuffing his shoe along the floor, Malik watched the rest of the people in the hallway getting ready for the weekend. Walking over to the doors, he made a move to open them, but stopped when Joshua skidded in front of him suddenly. Taken by surprise, Malik frowned when he opened the door for him. It was a bit odd for him to do something so sudden, but he just voiced a small thanks and let him open the rest of the doors for him. "You're a real freaking gentleman, you know that? But I'm not a girl, so I don't like you practicing chivalry on me."

"Who said that I thought you were a girl?" Smiling again, Joshua reached out a hand to brush a piece of his hair away from his neck.

Malik froze instantly. He had felt his skin. For that one moment, he could feel his skin against him. And he noticed their proximity then. So close. So unbearably close. And he had touched him. Just reached out and touched him and moved his skin against his own, brushed his hand against his neck and- Malik shuddered, trying to regain himself as quickly as possible and wipe the fear off his face.

But Malik was used to fear, especially of late. He could hide his feelings, his fears well. He hid his terror from his family and friends, and so he could hide his sudden phobic reaction from Joshua. Faking a shaky smile, Malik exhaled sharply.

Joshua frowned. Could he tell that something was wrong…? Malik panicked a little before realizing what he was doing. To be so scared when he had so many other things to be more rightly terrified over… No. No, Malik wasn't going to think of that. H-he was going to have a life. He wasn't going to live in a constant fear of touch or- _him._ He wouldn't really hurt anyone like his letters said. He wouldn't really take him away…

"You okay, Malik? Is something wrong? You just freaked out there all of a sudden." His short brown hair fluttered a bit in the cold winter air. And Malik felt suddenly guilty. He didn't deserve someone who cared like him, who cared without acting outsidedly close. What would happen if he ever lost him? Joshua wasn't like his family. He would understand when he was depressed, and wouldn't ask questions, would give him helpful but blunt support. But his sister would worry constantly over him, having already tried to get him therapy. He could never tell her anything. But he could never tell anyone anything. If Malik lost Joshua… then… he would have nobody left to confide in.

"Nothing's wrong. I just… got really scared for a second… I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry. For everything…"

And Joshua didn't reply when Malik let himself break down just a little. He just stayed silent, the only sound their clunking shoes against the sidewalk and the cars that whizzed by as they walked back home in the bleak weather. And Malik appreciated that more then anything. Sometimes the best support was the silent kind. He didn't feel so terrified when Joshua hugged him without speaking. It was just friendly, even the way that he leaned his mouth in near his neck.

-

There was a feeling of dread that Malik couldn't shake as he got ready to leave. Something in the pit of his stomach that begged and screamed for him to stay home. He could hear it wailing and pleading, clawing against his insides. Anything to keep him from going out. But the feeling was almost normal now, so Malik ignored it as he zipped his coat up. Reaching into his pocket to pull out his spare change, Malik froze when he felt the texture of paper.

Without looking, Malik closed his eyes when he walked over to his kitchen's trashcan, and ripped the letter to shreds. And it was as if the sickness in the pit of his stomach left him as he did so. If it wasn't there, it wasn't real. But the letter had been unopened, in his pocket… It had been purposefully put there-

'_No. Don't think. Just don't think. Don't think, just go. It'll be fine, there's nothing to worry about. He won't hurt you. He's just in your head…_ _Everything's just all in your head…'_

Opening his eyes and looking up despondently at his reflection in the window of his kitchen, Malik grew depressed at the expression on his face. What had happened to him? The question was easy to answer. Because he now had a key to his apartment… He had broken in, there was no other explanation for the letter in his pocket, or the flowers laid on his bed. Both had suffered the same fate, though. Malik hoped they rotted together in the dump.

Unable to look at himself any longer, Malik took deep breaths, clenching his hand around the cell phone that Joshua had given him. Calm, calm… Tonight would be fun. He knew it would be. He just needed to prep himself a little after his short wave of depression and fear. Breathing slowly for another minute, Malik sighed, deeming himself ready to leave. Picking up his wallet (which was pathetically thin), Malik left the kitchen to the living room, pausing when he tightened his hand around the door knob.

"Isis! I'm going out with Joshua! I'll be back tonight!" He yelled, waiting for a reply. There was a brief moment of silence before he heard his sister's voice from her bedroom.

"Okay. Be back before eleven!"

Smiling just a little, Malik pulled his shoes on and left the apartment, locking it behind him just in case.

-

"You're late." A short scowl was set as Malik stood up, seeing Joshua jog up in front of him. Sitting on the concrete steps of the movie theater before standing up, he punched him in the arm. A small chastisation for his wait.

"Hey, hey. I'm not _that_ late." Panting a little from his run, Joshua grinned at him as he stood with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

Malik raised an eyebrow at him, frown still on his face, but it was starting to leave.

"What?" Joshua fakingly pouted as Malik frowned harder. "What? Okay, okay. I'm fifteen minutes late. But I mean, it's not really _that_ bad!"

"The movie already started."

His face freezing and his breath no longer coming in short, Joshua paused for only a quick time before standing up straight suddenly.

"Then why the hell are we standing around out here!? Come on, I'm paying for this thing!" Grinning again at him, Malik let his frown drop, and he smiled back even though the movie he had waited to see had already started. Starting to run up the steps, Joshua grabbed his hand, and Malik let him. Pulling him behind him, Malik's smile faltered a little when he did not let go even after the tickets were paid for.

Thrusting the ticket stub into his hand along with a box of popcorn, Joshua's hand only left his to hold the load of food he had bought for himself. Nervous, Malik shifted in his seat when they sat down in the theater and the lights dimmed. Keeping his hand off of the arm rest, he sat in the corner of his seat. But somehow, Joshua always managed to touch him. Which ruined the movie. What was the point of going to see a horror, when the object of your own phobia was playing in real life?

-

The lights flooding on, Malik stared with an open mouth at the screen as the credits continued to roll to the end. Not moving at all, he only closed his mouth when he heard Joshua speak.

"That was…"

"…so bad…"

And they burst out laughing. Joshua doubled over, holding his stomach as he laughed, Malik throwing his head back. Jumping up from his seat, he continued to laugh, stumbling out into the isle, his friend following.

"Even for-- a slasher flick-- that was terrible!" Malik had to catch his breath as he laughed, not caring that the other people in the lobby were staring at them as they laughed with each other.

"I know, did you see it!? I mean he comes up behind her and-- Oh my god! That was priceless!" Leaning on him, Joshua wheezed from laughing so hard, stumbling behind Malik as he supported them both out the door. A burst of cold air battering Malik's hair against his face, he shivered, still grinning, but his laughs subsided for the most part. A wake up call of sorts. Looking up at the sky, Malik watched the last bits of light leave before it became pitch black and the street lights flooded on.

Shivering again, Malik felt a chill down his back that wasn't from the weather. The sounds of the city and Joshua's continuing laughter becoming muted, Malik was plunged into a soundless world apart from his own heart beat. He froze, and he could feel something. Just _something_ that he was able to understand perfectly. He could feel pure, unadulterated anger, a deep longing, a pit of sadness. And the distinct feeling of being watched. All of that as he stood in the freezing city streets. His chest clenching up in fear, he looked around worriedly, scared of what he had felt, and nervous as the world came slowly back to him. Staring off into the dark alleys of their city, Malik wondered if he really had made the right choice about going out.

Stepping a little off balance, Malik looked over as the brown haired boy straightened up. Exhaling sharply, still with a grin, Joshua composed himself.

"Hey. We still have time before your curfew, and I'm freezing. Want to grab some coffee? I'll pay, I swear. I won't leave you to bust tables for stealing their food."

"Yeah, sure, just so long as you keep that promise…" His mind not fully with his friend, Malik looked away dully. Taken aback by his sudden change in attitude, Joshua frowned and started to walk, Malik following him. A little bit of silence would be okay…

The wind was cold against his face, and his coat helped only a bit. It bit him and whipped around him, his cheeks growing hot. Watching his way as they crossed the street, Malik kept as close as he felt comfortable with next to Joshua. Because he felt it again. The feeling of being watched. And now… the knowledge that… he very might well be… Malik felt so sick. He needed to cry. But he wouldn't. Malik would never let himself cry. He would never degrade himself like that, even in a situation that he was in…

Shadows stretching far along the ground, Malik watched as cars speeding by cast their different colored lights onto the adjacent buildings. He thought he could faintly hear footsteps, but the sounds of the city drowned them out. So ignoring the way the hair raised on the back of his neck, Malik entered the little coffee shop when Joshua opened the door again for him.

The inside was flooded with bright artificial light. Blue booths lining the wall, it was small but homey. Looking down at the black and white tiled floor, Malik glanced up when a waitress came to seat them. She looked young, nineteen maybe, and had dark brown hair that was mussed up into a bun at the top of her head. Small bits of her curly hair hanging down past her cheekbones, she was pretty enough. But Malik didn't notice. It wasn't only other men that put him off… Malik wondered if the feeling of her skin would feel as disgusting as well…

Following her to a booth near the window, Malik sat down on the cushioned seat, Joshua sitting across from him. Leaning his elbows onto the table, he looked expectantly up at the waitress, and then over to Joshua.

"Is there anything I can get you with? Or would you like a little time before you order?" She brought out a little pad, and Malik opened his mouth, but Joshua cut him off.

"Two iced coffees please." He ordered from them both, and Malik was a bit put off. He would have just gotten something that he knew he liked… Looking down at them, she wrote down the order, and Malik read her name tag, noting her to be Carla. Smiling and telling them that it would be quick and that they could call if they wanted something else, she left them alone.

Joshua turned to him. "I hope you don't mind about that. But I really want you to try this stuff. It's really good."

"No, I don't mind…" Malik's voice trailed off, and he glanced away. His good mood was almost completely gone, replaced by the smallest bit of depression. It had come on so fast…

Again silent, Malik had nothing other to do then to look around the room. There weren't many other people. A young couple a few seats down, engaged in a heated discussion over whether or not the woman's pants made her look fat or not, an old man sitting by himself near the window, a college student fiddling with his straw at the bar, and another man sitting by himself in the corner of the room, reading a newspaper. Or would so appear. But when Malik looked over at him, he caught his eyes very briefly, one of the strongest looks he had ever been given, and Malik looked away quickly, shivering. His eyes, his skin color, his hair… It was so odd…

"So…" Malik looked back as he heard Joshua speak. "you got today's notes, right?"

Chewing his lip, Malik grinned nervously. "Well I mean, as much as I could with Ms. Brian droning on like that…"

Smiling back at him, Joshua was a master at conversation. He was always happy, always smiling, and he was always able to make Malik's mood lift. On a dime, he could set the tone of a conversation, and it always worked in his favor. Letting him do what he was obviously talented at, Malik forgot about the feeling of being watched, of his fear, and of the brief flash of absolute terror he felt when he had looked over at the man in the corner.

Their iced coffees arriving, Malik was once again laughing. Joshua was such a good friend. He could always make him feel good. Nothing was ever awkward between them. Laughing softly after he finished telling what he had said back to one of their classes' pot heads, Malik looked up at him curiously when he paused.

It wasn't often that Joshua stopped talking in the middle of one of his stories. Watching as he bit his bottom lip, Malik's full attention was on him as he continued to talk again.

"Malik…" Something was a bit off with him. Whether it be his somewhat nervous posterior, or the way that his voice became so much more soft and serious. "I know that… this will probably fuck everything up, and that I'm a real idiot… But for a while now- oh man, how do I say this?" He laughed nervously, shaking his head in his hands, all the while still smiling. Breathing deeply, his shoulders moving up with the motion, he was no longer smiling when he dropped his hands.

"-You're going to hate me. I know that. But I just… I can't keep going on like this. It's killing me, it really is. The reason I wanted to take you to the movies today- the reason why- god, everything! Ugh, I don't know, I- I don't know what to say. I'm not good at stuff like this, but, Malik…"Another deep breath, and he continued, locking eyes with him, Malik not daring to look away. Leaning forward, his voice became a whisper, and his eyes were the most serious that he had ever seen. "Malik… I think that I'm in love with you. Ever since I saw you- and I couldn't tell anyone that I'm… you know… not straight… But I'm telling you now. You'll call me a freak, hate me, never want to see me again. And I'm prepared for that. But Malik. I have to let you know. I can't keep just being friends like this. It's either everything, or nothing. I'm sorry, really, I am."

And keeping his eyes always on him, Joshua leaned over, reaching out a hand, and pulled him to him, kissing him softly.

His lips were soft, and his skin was smooth. He was warm and open, always, always out going. Kissing him, Malik froze as he felt his lips against him, and his hand against his cheek. Physically and mentally, Malik could do nothing other then sit unresponsive across from him, only one thought running through his head. The reminder of a memory that he didn't think he could ever forget. He hadn't felt the feeling of lips against his own for so long, and he had hoped he would have never felt them again.

It all came to him suddenly. The realization of what was happening. The fact that his best friend, the one person who he had thought cared about him, was hurting him so much, was _touching_ him. _Kissing_ him. His whole body tensing with fear of the present and of memory, Malik's eyes were wide when his lips finally left his own, his hand still staying on his cheek. Joshua looked up at him with his dark eyes, smile gone from his face. And when he leaned in to him again, Malik couldn't take it anymore. Standing up suddenly, Malik reached a hand to his mouth, knocking the coffee over as he did so. Tears welling in his eyes from the absolute betrayal and fear, he backed out of the booth slowly.

"Malik…?" His voice was soft, but it did nothing to help. That had been his first real kiss… Repeating his name again, Malik's vision became blurry through the tears that threatened to spill over. _Him, him, him, him, his life, everything, nothing and everything at once. The letters, the threats, the proclamations, everything. Joshua's kiss._ It was too much to handle. It was a breaking point, every bit of stress and fear he had felt in the past year coming to him in one moment. He felt the tears come. But Malik wouldn't show the world his weakness, would not show his best friend how much he hurt inside through his front of courage. And so turning quickly, Malik ran out of the store, the little bell ringing on the way out as Joshua called after him, and Malik felt tears spill out of his eyes.

The wind did nothing against him as he ran, his shoes thumping against the ground. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the stress, the fear. It was too much. It was overwhelming him, sucking him down into a bottomless stronghold of hell. He needed out, anyway out. And if his temporary panacea was to let go and sob, he would do so alone, running back home, not in front of his best friend. He didn't want the world to see him. He didn't want anyone to know how much life was eating away at him from the inside. He didn't blame Joshua. He didn't hate him. The only person he hated was himself. His damned life, the way that he had fucked it up himself. It was all his fault, his phobia. It was his fault that he couldn't be touched… Everything was his fault. It would be better if he had never been born.

Letting himself cry, Malik didn't stop running until he got to his apartment complex, hiding his face as he walked up the stairs to his door, stifling the sound of his crying as he unlocked the door. Humiliated, disgusted, terrified, and depressed, Malik opened and shut his door slowly, falling onto his bed, not taking off his shoes as he curled up and sobbed without noise, hiding his face in his hands.

He was going to die. He was going to die. He didn't deserve to live. No reason at all to keep on going. He was only a burden, the reason his family was struggling, the reason Joshua was upset, the reason his mother had died… Maybe he should let his stalker take him away like he promised. It would be good for the world, without him. He was so selfish. He was terrified of his stalker, no words to describe his fear. It would be good for him to disappear, though. But he couldn't. He couldn't give himself up… he was so selfish…

His tears were wet against his hand as the new thought dragged him down. He couldn't go on like this. Crying was not enough, only amplifying how disgusting he had become. He was so weak that he now cried… Malik wasn't a real man… But he had to have a way out. It was his ending point. He… needed to tell someone. He had to get away. He couldn't go on. He had to tell someone about his stalker. Or, if not that… he would go to the address that his stalker had written in his recent letter, his house. He would go and let him take him away, just give up. Let the Knight tip his King over, let the chess piece fall against the checkered board.

But could he do that to his sister, his brother, Joshua? He had hurt them enough, screwed them over enough by simply living. What would happen if he were to disappear? Would it be too much? His sob stopping momentarily, Malik stared dully at his hand, silent tears still dripping from his eyes as they ran hot against his nose. His sister wouldn't be able to handle it, his brother wouldn't, either. Joshua, he- he would take it hard… Harder now that he had admitted everything. He would think it was his fault. Malik didn't want to hurt them anymore then he already had.

Malik would tell.

He wouldn't be weak, he wouldn't just give in. He would surround his King with Rooks, Pawns… Malik would leave no room for a checkmate. He would turn his opponent's own strategy against him and take his King. He would tell Joshua. It would be his apology. It would fix everything, and Malik would never have to look behind his shoulder again.

Glancing away to his bedside table, Malik, resolved, picked up a bouquet of flowers that he had missed. Lilacs and roses tied together with a yellow string. Looking dully at the nametag that came with it and keeping only the folded hundred dollar bill, Malik ripped off the flower heads and threw them to the ground, tearing apart the stems and letting them fall out of his hand. Watching as the petals spread out across his floor, Malik crumpled the nametag in his hand.

_I'll always be there, Malik, even when you're gone. I love you. Always._

_-M.T.I._

* * *

The boy's eyes were impossibly wide as Mariku kept his hand on his neck, lifting him above the ground just a bit, pressing him against the grungy wall. Giving into his desires, Mariku squeezed his neck as hard as he could for a couple of seconds, watching him gasp and gurgle, reaching hands off to try and pry him away. Scowling in disgust and pure hatred, Mariku slammed his head back against the wall, dropping the dazed boy to the ground. He watched as he sputtered for breaths. Wasting no time, Mariku kicked him hard in the side, grinning crazed as he heard him cry out. He liked to hear sounds like that from filth like him. Wanting to hear it again, Mariku kicked him over and over, relishing in his pathetic whimpers as he struggled to curl up and deflect the kicks from his head.

Growing bored of how he did not retaliate, Mariku growled before pulling him up and pushing him against the wall to support him. His face was covered in blood and his eyes were unfocussed. Mariku shook him. He looked back a little clearer before but still incredibly hazy.

"You must think you're pretty damn special, huh? What the fuck do you think you are, touching him like that?! Oh, I know your kind. The world is _aaalll _yours, huh? And everyone around you, including my boy?" He hissed, pushing his face up until his nose was centimeters from his. Mariku made an expression of disgust as he smelled the blood on him. "Well you should have fucking thought twice. Because, guess what, you little shit, he's _mine!_ You have _no right_ to touch him and take him from me! Malik is _mine!!_ Do you think you're that goddamn privileged!? Huh, do you!? Answer me, you pathetic excuse of a boy!" Gritting his teeth together, Mariku slammed his head back against the wall, listening as he cried out in pain. Every sound he made only heightened Mariku's feeling of revenge. He had waited so long to hurt him…

Gurgling again, Joshua struggled for a breath. Wheezing in, his eyebrows furrowed, he looked up at Mariku with an expression almost void of fear. "Wh-Who says-- that you- are allowed to call- h-him y-yours?"

Staring at him, Mariku was taken aback. Infuriated beyond anything he had ever felt before, he stared with wide eyes back before starting to laugh softly, it gaining volume every time his shoulders shook. Throwing his head back, Mariku roared in laughter before gaining composure, his laughs drawing down to a light chuckle.

"You're hilarious, kid. Saying something as cocky as that in the position that you're in…? Damn. Maybe you have more backbone then I thought. But first, let's get this straight." Leaning into him again, Mariku grinned, showing his teeth, his eyes wild. "The only person who ever, _ever_, has given a single _fuck_, about him… is me. I _own_ him, and I've watched too long to see some fucking bitch like you touch him and talk to him and look at him while I can't. Too _fucking_ long. So I'm going to end it now, and my Malik will be only mine again. Too bad, kid. If only you hadn't kissed him, maybe I could have let you live."

Dropping him, Mariku watched as he tried to scramble back, watched his body shaking in fear from him. And it felt so good. He had waited so long for this moment… So lowering his eyes and smiling, Mariku reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. Undoing the safety, he memorized the look on his face before pulling the trigger.

Blood splattered onto the walls, onto the ground, everywhere that he could see. It pooled beneath the body that was now limp against the disgusting ground. Similar things should always be grouped together. Walking forward and listening as his boots squished from the blood on the ground, Mariku looked down with lowered eyes at the hole in the boy's neck. He kneeled, cocking his head to the side, and grinned once again in a crazed manner as he saw the blood that had splattered onto his face. Humming a bit, he stood, nudging the body with the toe of his shoe, and watching as the head rolled back lifelessly into place.

Looking around, Mariku frowned at the soft light of the city street. Glancing once more at the dead boy at his feet, Mariku smirked, looking away. He really did care about Malik. This was all in his favor. At least he wouldn't have to worry about seeing him at school after what had happened. After all, Malik didn't need anyone other then him. Malik needed nothing other then his love. He loved him more then anything he had ever seen before. Malik was the only thing he needed, and if he wasn't the only thing that Malik needed, then he would eliminate all other competitors.

One pawn down. Malik was ready for checkmate.

* * *

The safest place to be in his room, Malik learned, was his bathroom. If he locked the door and hid behind the shower, it was easy to imagine that he could not be seen. It was all very futile, though. Because if someone was really hell bent on finding him, it would be all to easy to catch him. The thought didn't bode well in Malik's mind.

He could try to hide under his bed, but that was predictable. He only had a dresser, a bookshelf, and table in his room; none suitable for hiding behind either. He could try the closet, but that was just as cliché as the bed. The shower he could hide in. But all that would take to find him would be to open the sliding door. Whimpering, Malik sighed.

There was really no point in trying to hide. Maybe he wouldn't even _need_ to try and hide. Maybe he was just making himself paranoid over nothing. Malik knew that he didn't need anymore stress, but the knowledge of the unknown was more terrifying then the facts. The facts were that Mariku was gone, Malik was alone, locked in his room, and Bakura would be coming home at any time. Would Bakura try to hurt him, or would he just simply ignore him? Everything lied on that answer, but Malik had no way to answer it. The most he could to was sit on his bed and try to read. But even that he wasn't good at, as his mind wondered constantly to the fear that clawed at his chest.

Malik was backed up far into the corner of his bed, where the mattress frame met the wall. He had curled his knees up close to his chest. He felt safer that way, smaller. Malik appreciated corners so much more, now. His book was limp in his hands, eyes not focusing on the text as he read the same line over and over. It was about war, the Holocaust, and it made Malik a bit sick to read. He was tired of torture… Looking away with his eyebrows furrowed, Malik longed desperately for Mariku to come back.

He had left yesterday, giving Malik a lengthy goodbye, and Malik's chest constricted when he heard the slam of the door shutting, signaling his leave throughout the house. Because without Mariku… without his constant reminder… it would be all to easy to let himself give in to desperation. Without his love, Malik would begin to remember how much he hated him, how terrified he was of him, how horrifying the sound of his voice was… B-But he didn't. N-no, he didn't. Malik loved him, he really, really did. That was the only choice. Malik loved him, and he missed him. He wanted him back…

Sniffing, Malik felt his nerves lessen slightly. He felt suddenly tired, and so he set his book face down onto the bed, not losing his place. The feeling of his comforter against his legs when his pants rode up a bit at the ankle made him shiver as he laid down. Wrapping his arms around himself, Malik traced his finger along the bed sheet in front of his face. Mariku had rape- made love to him here. Suddenly, Malik's bed no longer seemed as comforting and safe as it had been before…

Looking over at the window, Malik noticed the leaves that had begun to appear on the trees, the landscape no longer covered in green only by the pine trees. Everything was changing… He had lived with Mariku for four months, enough for the seasons to change. Malik looked away back to his bed sheets. He sighed and closed his eyes. The thought was not rested upon. Instead, Malik let himself fall gradually asleep. The best way to deal with fear was to forget about it, after all.

But sleep seemed to be all too short, and Malik awoke with a start when he heard something slam shut. His eyes snapping open immediately, he looked around fearfully, not knowing what was going on. The sound of something thumping, and Malik's breath caught in his throat. _Bakura was home._

His body was lethargic as he panicked, sitting straight up, not knowing what to do. He looked around wildly, checking for any sort of hiding place. It went on for what seemed longer then it should have, looking. Shouldn't Bakura already be in his room terrorizing him? Malik was confused, and so he stayed put, frozen, holding his breath in fearful anticipation. He didn't want to make any noise. He didn't want to alert Bakura to his presence. Shifting, Malik's heart stopped when he knocked his book off the side of his bed, it making a loud clanking sound with the floor. It made him want to cry in frustration.

Everything was quiet for a moment. He had heard Bakura moving around downstairs, doing whatever it was that he was doing. But now it was all quiet. Sucking in a breath, Malik squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself again. He had heard. He knew it. So why was he taking so long…? Malik asked the question all too fast when he heard the inevitable thump of feet on stairs.

Freezing up again, Malik panicked. He slid quickly off his bed, standing in the middle of the room, and looked wildly around. The footsteps were getting closer, and Malik could find no where to hide and save himself. In one last pathetic attempt, Malik moved to the side of his room, and curled up next to his bookshelf, hiding his face in his arms, terrified. His body trembled from fear, and he couldn't keep his breathing straight. Choking up, Malik heard the footsteps outside his door, and he tightened his arms around himself.

There was the jingle of the doorknob, and his stomach dropped, a wave of coldness washing over him. Bakura had found a key. His teeth chattered in fear, staring with wide eyes at his arms as he tried to scoot farther into the corner and tighten his arms harder.

'_Please don't see me. Please don't see me. Please don't see me…'_

Malik chanted it over and over again. Maybe the same gods that were punishing now would let up a little. Just a little so that he would not die that day. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die…! Malik sobbed before silencing himself as he heard his door creak slowly open. He could not see from his spot, and so could only stare in muted terror at the wall in front of him.

He heard Bakura moving, knew he was in his room as his steps became soft to sharp, walking from his carpeted bedroom to his tile bathroom. He stayed in there for no more then a minute, though it felt like an eternity to Malik as he tried to stifle his terror. Malik couldn't help to stop his shaking no matter how hard he tried. He was resigned to his fate as Bakura's footsteps left his bathroom.

Even his heart stopped beating when he heard the open and close of his closet. There was only one place left to look. Clapping a hand over his mouth as he stared in petrified terror at the wall adjacent from himself, Malik's knees trembled. This was it. This was really it. He was going to die. And Mariku had let him.

"There you are. In a room like this, it's pointless to try and hide." Malik stared up at Bakura when he loomed over him, his face cold as it always was. Feeling so sick, Malik began to hyperventilate as Bakura grinned. He had hoped to never see him again in his life. "Now get the fuck out of there."

Bakura grew angry when Malik did not move, gritting his teeth. Glaring down at him, he punched the wall above his head, and his voice rose. "I told you to get the fuck out of there! Damn it, move!!" Raising his hand in a motion to hit him, Malik jerked forward. He kept his hands around his stomach, knowing that he would be sick as he stood up as quick as he could and left his corner. He moved to the middle of his room, passing Bakura by, and staying as far away from his as possible. Malik bent over a little at the middle like a cowering animal, his expression terrified as he hyperventilated. Trying to move into another corner and save himself, he sobbed when Bakura yelled at him again.

"No! Stay in the middle. You're not getting away from me again." He grinned at Malik's fear. His face heated up in gut churning sickness and terror as he forced himself to move to the middle of the room. Malik really was a cornered animal as he longed to move back to the corner and out of his vulnerable place out in the open.

His breaths coming in shakily, he didn't bother to hide his emotions, letting them all show. Bakura knew him the best. He knew him for how pathetic he was. Malik's knees felt like they would buckle as Bakura narrowed his eyes and moved to walk around him. He began to shake again as Bakura circled him, squeezing his eyes shut and dry sobbing. He was going to die. Bakura was going to kill him. He would strangle him with his bed sheets, and dump his body out in the woods. And he would tell Mariku that he had ran away. There was nobody there to save him… He was going to die, and he would never see his family again. The sheets would be stained with blood, and Bakura would cut him before killing him, and-

"Mariku said he wouldn't be back for another day. You know what that means, right?" His voice was smooth and languid, his accent adding to the effect. Malik's stomach lurched at his words.

"N-No…" He moaned as his voice trailed off.

"It means," Bakura said, grinning again as he moved in close to him, "that me and you are all alone. It means that I could do whatever I wanted with you, and nobody would ever know."

He was playing something, some kind of game. He was working his fear up, and when it got to the summit- well, when that happened, Malik knew that he really would be fucked. Squeezing his eyes shut, Malik resigned himself to his fate. There was no one there to save him… Malik longed desperately for Mariku to come back.

Jumping, Malik opened his eyes suddenly when he felt Bakura's hand brush against his face. Gasping, Malik jerked back, and moved to the wall as quickly as he could, sliding down it just a bit as he fought the need to cry. He had touched him, touched him… He _could_ touch him. And that was what scared him the most.

"P-please…" Malik's voice wavered as he fought to keep himself composed and not just break down before the man. "P-please don't touch me. Please, please I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt me. P-Please don't touch me, don't touch me…" His eyes felt heavy with tears as he stared down at the carpet at his feet, his face hot. He was so scared… He just wanted to be left alone…

Bakura's face was expressionless as he looked back at him, only the smallest of frowns gracing his lips. Staring at him, Bakura uncrossed his arms and glared. "You're so fucking pathetic. Who said I ever wanted to touch something like you?" He frowned again as Malik continued to choke back on his sobs. Sighing, Bakura growled and ran his hand through his hair. Looking back hard at him, Bakura's voice became different. "But don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. Now stand up and stop crying."

He became angry when Malik struggled to do so, his knees still shaking and eyes still watery with the threat of tears. "I said stop crying!" Bakura snapped when he did not immediately obey him. Malik made a slight hiccupping noise as he tried to stop himself.

"Good…" Bakura nodded slightly, his long, light hair moving with the motion. "Now, come with me. We're going downstairs." His voice left no room for challenge, but Malik paused, again terrified. What was he going to do with him? Was he going to cut him with a butcher knife from the kitchen? Would he stab him with- "I said get moving!" Jumping, Malik would do whatever it took to not be killed, and obeyed him. Immediately moving from his place from the wall, Bakura pushed him out the door, making him stumble.

Malik had been out of the room only a few times, and all were filled with horrible memories. His stomach churned from remembering when he had tried to escape, and Bakura pushing him along behind him helped none. Clutching his stomach again, he had to use the rail of the stairs to support himself.

The house seemed smaller now, not as big as he had thought it was before, although it was still large. Ornate walls and well decorated, Malik wondered briefly if Mariku had decorated the house himself. It seemed unlikely. Malik gasped when he stumbled a little and Bakura continued to shove him forward. He had almost tripped. But the walk wasn't long, and when he reached the bottom set of stairs, he felt Bakura's hand around his upper arm. Shivering, the only thing that kept him from breaking down was that he was wearing medium lengthed sleeves, and could not feel his skin.

"You try to run," Bakura hissed, moving his mouth next to Malik's ear, "and I'll shoot you like I promised. So don't get anything through your head." He drew away, but continued to keep a hold on him. Pushing him forward again, Bakura forced him to walk through the hallway, and Malik remembered the first time that he had seen it. It was still the same… He really did live here…

Stumbling again, Malik was confused when Bakura pushed him into a different room then he had expected. The living room. Malik was confused, starting to walk slower as he looked around. Bakura growled as he slowed down, but it didn't matter, because he had moved him to the middle of the room. Stopping, Malik looked quickly at the door, one thought flitting across his mind. But Bakura pushed him before he could do anything. Taken by surprise, Malik couldn't find his footing, and fell back. Reaching out behind him, expecting to fall to the ground, he made an 'umph' sound when he landed on a couch, and not the hard floor. Looking up fearfully, Malik scrunched himself close to the corner of the seat and armrest, watching as Bakura looked down at him.

Bakura scowled and picked up a remote from the table in front of the couch. Tossing it to him, Malik caught it quickly, confused and scared. What was he doing…? "Watch T.V. or something. Don't you dare move. I'll be back." Giving him no other acknowledgement, Bakura left the room.

Malik was left alone. Alone. By himself. And there was a door right next to him. The door. Escape, escape. He could leave, run away, and- No. Malik had learned. It would never work. Bakura had a car. He could catch him all too quickly. And he loved Mariku, anyway. He wouldn't leave him…

Malik sighed and moved his head away from where he had been staring at the door. Looking around, he shifted uncomfortably, folding his legs underneath himself. Mariku's house was big. And expensive. Everything was so extravagant. There was a glass table in front of him, seated on a rug that looked as though it had been imported. The floor was hardwood and the walls were brick. Red furniture dotted the room including the couch he was sitting on and the ottoman next to him. A flat screen T.V. hung on the wall, and Malik could see a case filled with DVDs. He had never really expected Mariku to have interests, or take pleasure in anything. He had forgotten that he was human, and liked things that most people did…

"Are you stupid, or something? Do you not know how to use a remote?" Malik flinched back when he heard Bakura's voice. Standing in the doorway, Bakura scowled at him. "Whatever. I brought you food." Giving him a look, Bakura tossed a bag of chips at him, and Malik caught it clumsily, not expecting anything to be thrown at him again. Dropping the remote, Malik looked down, surprised to see a bag of Doritos in his hands. It was almost funny in a sense. He hadn't been expecting that…

"Don't even try to tell me you're not hungry. I know that Mariku forgot to feed you again. So just eat it." Narrowing his eyes, Bakura crossed the room to stand in front of him. Malik flinched back again, and Bakura laughed. "Just give me the damn remote. Since you're too stupid to use it, I will." Not giving him any other mocking words, Bakura picked up the remote that Malik had dropped next to him, and moved to the chair next to the couch. Slumping down in it, Bakura was silent as he flipped the T.V. on.

The screen blipped a couple of times before a picture appeared, and sound came directly afterwards. It was a news show, and Bakura made a dissatisfied face before flipping through the channels. And Malik was so confused. This was so… surreal. The last time he had seen Bakura, was when he had threatened to kill him, rape him, had taken him back to Mariku. He had hurt him, scarred him, physically and mentally. And now here he was, while Mariku was gone, prime time to kill him. And instead of doing anything that Malik would have thought would be productive to him… He had let him out of his room, taken him downstairs, given him junk food, and was watching T.V. in the same room as him. He obviously had a plan. This was just… too… surreal.

Looking over at the other man, Malik furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to make any sudden moves, or even move at all, anything to remind Bakura that he was still there as he watched T.V. He wanted to go back to his room… Just go back to sleep and wait for Mariku to come back. But… He hadn't been out of his room in so long… The white walls were starting to make him go insane. It was good to be out, even if every move he made had him terrified that Bakura would hurt him. Glancing down at the bag in his hands, he looked over at Bakura, and then back down. Wincing when the bag crinkled as he opened it, Malik was wary to eat the food.

But he was hungry, and Bakura had told him to do so… So tentatively, Malik reached into the bag, and ate one of the chips. It was a bit spicy, which he wasn't expecting, but it tasted good and he was hungry. Malik looked up at the T.V., periodically seeing what Bakura was watching. It was some sort of cop show and he looked away. He was tense, nervous, and somehow, it just didn't feel right to watch. He… was away from home, in the middle of Minnesota. There shouldn't _be_ T.V.. It reminded him that the world continued to turn, even after he had been kidnapped. And it felt like he was being slighted. His life had been destroyed, ruined, and there was nobody to mourn for him.

No. No, h-he couldn't think like that. He loved Mariku, h-he did. He wanted to be here. Yes… that was it. He wouldn't think so negatively. It was all lies. But… without Mariku to distract him… Malik felt his mind reverting back to how he had been before. His enviorment had changed once again. How was he to adapt this time? He had to keep the same mindset… He couldn't let himself break down…

"Are you scared?"

Malik paused when he heard Bakura speak, confused at his softer tone. He had never heard him speak like that… He looked over at him, but Bakura did not look at him. He continued to look at the T.V., but Malik could tell that he wasn't really watching it.

"I-" Was he? Was he really? He loved Mariku, right? But… Did Malik really fear for his life like his subconscious told him? What would Bakura's reply be if he told him that he loved him…? Malik still had to be wary. This could all be a trick to lure him into becoming used to the situation. Bakura could still hurt him at any time. "I-… I don't know…"

Bakura frowned at the television. "You don't know? You know, Malik. Why don't you want to tell me? Is it that you just don't want to tell me, or that you don't want to admit it to yourself?"

"I-"

"Stop stuttering. Either think out what you're going to say first, or don't say anything at all. But I won't let you not answer me, so stop fucking stuttering."

Malik chewed his lip, looking away. What was the answer to that? Was Bakura right? Was this just another way to hurt him? But… what really was the answer? Malik sighed. Dropping the bag of chips, he moved his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his hands. He didn't know what to do…

"I… I am scared…" Malik's voice was almost a whisper, but he knew Bakura could hear him. But admitting it was more for himself, then for the British man. "I'm so scared, I'm so scared. I want to go home, I don't want to be here. I'm terrified that he's going to kill me. He's already touched me… I don't want to feel him. I want my sister and my brother and my life back. B-But I can't. He won't let me go… He never will… A-And I can't keep going on like this. I have to love him, I _need_ to love him. Because if I don't… I'll go insane, and I'll be the one to kill myself in the end…"

There was a silence that stretched long after that, broken only by the sound of the television. Malik didn't care anymore. He didn't care that Bakura would hurt him. He was always hurt in the end, anyway. He could hit him, punch him all he wanted. It would do nothing. Malik was hurting so much more on the inside, anyway… And in a sense, Malik had become so much stronger while he had grown weaker. The things that would have hurt him before were now nothing. He had hardened, but not in the ways that would help him. At least he hadn't only lost, but gained a little as well…

"You would give up that easily, Malik?" Malik looked warily over at Bakura through his parted fingers. He had turned his head and was facing him now. It was one of the few times that Malik had not seen him mad. "You would give everything up so easily? Aren't you going to fight back? I remember when you used to scream at him. I could hear you both. I think you even bit him once… You would scream and protest. You never broke down, even when you cried. And it stopped when he raped you, didn't it? That's when you gave up. Is that all it takes, Malik? Just touch?" Bakura's face was hard. This was something new… Malik had always seen him as spontaneous and sadistic. But… maybe he wasn't as he had believed him to be. This Bakura was calm, intelligent. Everything was so much different when you looked at it the second way around.

"…I should do to you what he did. I should touch you, fuck you, but I won't tell you that I loved you. It would make you realized what a fool you are, how stupid you are to kill yourself over simple touch. Touch doesn't mean anything. It's the motives behind it that do. But… why, Malik? There's a reason, I know it. Just because Mariku is too scared to find out why you are really scared to be touched doesn't mean that I am. I want to know, Malik. And dammit, you'll tell me."

Bakura stared hard at him, the light from the T.V. flashing across his face, creating moving shadows. Malik looked away. He didn't want to look at him… Because Bakura was now something different to him. He was no longer terrifying, but a physical embodiment that voiced all the fears that he had. Should he tell him, should he admit it? Malik was conflicted. He had… never told anybody… And maybe he needed it. Maybe he needed to admit his phobia, let it go. And if he did, maybe it would no longer haunt him… He had lived with the knowledge by himself too long…

"Why do you care…" It was a statement, and Malik stared at the glass table. "You want me dead, you want to kill me… Why do you want to know? I know you don't care about me… Nobody ever has… What reason is there for you to know?"

"Because, Malik," Bakura's voice was serious, and he heard the smallest bit of sadness behind it. Malik looked back at him to watch as he spoke. So much different then Malik had always known him, Bakura looked sadly over at him "…I don't' want anyone else getting hurt."

Anyone… else?

Malik paused, and for the first time in his life, he knew he had to tell. This was what he needed. For himself. It didn't matter that it was Bakura, the only other person besides his nightmare, who had hurt him so much, that he was telling. All that mattered was that he was finally letting go of his misery. It would be gone, forever. He would no longer have to live solely alone with the memories.

"I-… It's because…" Malik exhaled sharply, his stomach becoming sick again as his heart beat faster. He needed this, he needed this. …He really did. So looking up, Malik got rid of his fear, his trepidation. Looking up, Malik felt a small bit of courage return to him. "When I was a child, my Dad- touched me--. It hurt me badly, physically and mentally. I was taken out of school. He used to beat me, but he had never done something like that before. It was the only time, but until he died, I lived in a constant fear of being touched. And it continued when I moved. It's stayed with me. And I guess it's his way of having me remember him.

When Mariku touches me- no, when _anybody_ touches me… I remember… I remember the night that he… _raped_ me, and it doesn't matter if it's even just a simple pat on the back. I-It's everything. I can't live normally, I'm in constant fear. I always remember. And it hurts me. When he touches me, it makes it worse. I-It adds to my memories, and touch no longer reminds me of my father, but of-… Mariku. It reminds me that I'm worthless, that I'll never see my family again… My fear isn't always just of the physical action, but what it embodies… A-And I've never- will never- get over it. I-I don't think I ever can. I'll always remember. Always, always…!"

He hadn't meant to let himself become hysterical, weak again, but he couldn't help it. Malik finally admitted it. He finally told someone else that he had been raped. But- no. What if Bakura didn't believe him!? What if he thought he was lying!? W-What if he had just admitted everything, _everything,_ and would then be rejected!? No… Malik would die if that happened. He would-

"…Do you try, Malik?" Bakura's voice brought him away from the brink, and he lifted his face out of his hands. "Do you ever try to stop it? Or do you just give in? It's so much easier to just give in and be scared… But you can stop it if you try."

He paused for a minute before leaning closer to him. His bangs fell across his face, and if it had been at any other time, the shadows cast around his face would have terrified him. Malik still didn't know who Bakura truly was. But he could believe this part of him. He had to.

"Mariku… doesn't know, does he?"

Malik opened his mouth. What was there to say other then the truth? Malik's courage dropped.

"…No…"

"He has to know, Malik. Mariku, he- he believes that you will love him, he tells himself that the more that he touches you, the more you'll become used to him. But he doesn't know. And the only thing not telling is doing is hurting you both. You have to tell him, Malik, or you will be continued to be scarred, and he will continue to be led on. And I don't want him to be hurt."

Was that true? Maybe it was. But Malik knew one thing: he could never tell him. He couldn't tell Mariku. He could tell Bakura, because Bakura was already his second in command torturer. It didn't hurt because Bakura already hurt him. But if he told Mariku… something horrible would happen… "I can't tell him… I just can't…" Malik sighed, looking away again. Maybe it would have been better if Bakura had just hurt him like he believed he would have, instead of putting him through this… These were things that Malik had not wanted to talk about. "But why do you care? You love him, I know you do. Why don't you want me to be hurt? Wouldn't you give anything for me to die, be hurt, and have Mariku back again?"

"Because, Malik, I already told you: I don't want any one else to be hurt again." His tone was serious, and Malik knew that he had to listen. "I know how he works. I've known him more then I've never known anybody, I know him better then myself. And I don't want him to be hurt. I care about him more then anything, in a way that you wouldn't understand. And… if loving you is what makes him happy… then I'd rather keep him like that. Because I know what happens when he isn't happy; I've seen it before. And I don't want to have it repeat. Because if it does… then I know how it will turn out. Like I said, I don't want you to get hurt. I know how it will end if he is not appeased… Mariku will always come back to me, just like before. But until he realizes this, the most I can do is wait and help him. I'm the only one who can help him, and you will never understand.

I want to help you. Even if I do hate you, I don't want to have you hurt. But I know I can't let you go, because it would hurt Mariku too much. It's why I took you back when you tried to escape. I was going to take you home, Malik, I really was. But… this is in both of your best interests. I will hate anyone who Mariku chooses to love over besides me, it's just how I work. But I don't wish your fate on anyone. I'm not stupid, and I sympathize with you. At this point, though, the best I can do is give you emotional support. I will never let you go, for his sake, and mine. It's not that I hate _you_, Malik, but I hate whoever Mariku loves besides me. It was my fault for not realizing this sooner. It's my fault that I hurt you so much before. But realize that I'm not like that. I've known you longer then you realize, Malik, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive, and to keep Mariku happy."

Malik didn't know how to react when Bakura stopped speaking. What was he supposed to say? What would be the right thing to say? No- what was the right way to _think_? This new information… Everything… seemed to fit more now… And Malik had more questions then before. …Who was Mariku, really?

"I-I…" He was stuttering again, but he didn't care. There was no right way to respond to what Bakura had just said. "I-… Bakura… I want to go home."

"I know, Malik. But you can't. Not until Mariku gets better, or, …you die." The look on his face enveloped everything that he had said, what he had admitted, and everything that he had hinted to. It was sympathetic, but blunt. Bakura knew what he would and wouldn't do. And Malik wouldn't fight him like he fought Mariku. Bakura was smart, and he knew how the world worked. How everything worked. How _Mariku_ worked. Malik could argue as much as he wanted with fate, but it would never change.

Looking away, Malik sighed, and rested his head in his arms once again. He stared at the wall that the door lined. That door… It was the answer to all of his problems. If he could only leave… But Bakura was no longer his enemy. Nor was he his ally. He was a double edged sword. Ready to help him, but to keep him locked away in the pits of hell as he spoke comforting words.

But through it all, Malik now had more motivation to escape. It was a necessity now, more then ever. And when Mariku came back, he knew he would turn his mind off and love him again. He had to plan now, had to find a way to leave. Malik knew that Bakura spoke the truth. He would ever stay here forever, locked away in his white room forever, or die trying to regain the life he had thought he had. Tearing his eyes away from the door, he looked back at Bakura, and knew that he understood what he was thinking.

Exhaling sharply, Malik uncurled his legs from his chest. He had one day. One day to think of how to escape before Mariku came back. It was a game, now. Slay the dragon and save the princess, watching out for the traps planted along the way. And Malik could do it. Living with Mariku had made him stronger. He had learned so much more, from both him, and Bakura. He had no allies, no easy ways out. There was no magical elixer that would give him unlimited life points. He could not just run blindly through the game and expect to win. No… if he wanted to win, he would have to plot, strategize. Malik didn't need a cheat code.

Taking one last look over at Bakura, Malik's mind whirred as he turned the T.V. back on and continued on as if nothing had happened. Bakura may not have been his ally, but he had just given him the one thing he needed to know to escape: It had happened before. Malik was not the first. And if he was the only one now, that meant that the other person had escaped him as well. All he needed to know was the secret of how they had done it.

He would save himself, or die trying.

* * *

**Remember chapter four? The 'flashbacks' follow it in sequence. So you should have been expecting Joshua's death if you remember pointless crap. Anyway, I wanted to show how Malik's personality changes with his friends, his 'old life', and how he's become after being kidnapped. Before he had been kidnapped, he tried to hide his fear and stress beneath sarcasm, like he had in the beginning. **

**THE END IS NIGH. Can you tell? MPH. Givea mea review or two. Hell, I put Bakura in this chapter. You gaiz go crazy for his Limey ass.**


	22. Chapter 22

**HOLY SHITTLESTICKS I AM SO FUCKING SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I honestly didn't mean to. It's just that one thing led to another, you know... Anyway, longish chapter. I like this one pretty well, so... enjoy it. As always. Because Stalker will -hopefully- be over by the beginning of next year. Two months. _Enjoy it._**

* * *

It was amazing how Isis's face seemed to have aged in such little time. She was twenty seven, and yet, it looked like she had gone through more then that of someone twice her age. And maybe she had. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she checked her hair and her clothes, fussing with the little make up that she owned. Although she was the director of Creative Activity at their city's museum, she never felt a need to dress up more then necessary. But today, she did.

Maybe it wasn't that she needed to dress up for the other person who would see her, but for herself. Or for Malik. It didn't really matter though, the reasoning behind it, she thought as she turned away from her reflection. All that mattered was that they had an appointment with their attorney and a source of information that day.

She had been told not to get her hopes up, but if all went well and the person who claimed to have information was truthful, then- It was, in all senses of honesty and something only a bit short of optimism, possible that the location of her brother could be found. And Isis wanted to look good for that.

"Are you ready, Rishid?" Isis turned back to the mirror only for only a quick passing glance, frowning at the tell tale signs of wrinkles. Grabbing her coat off of the counter, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, looking into his room. "It's two thirty, we should probably leave now. The appointment is at three fifteen, you know."

His room was almost completely dark. The blinds were drawn, the outside already cloudy, creating an even darker atmosphere. Papers were strewn over the floor, creating a somewhat tiled effect against the dark hardwood. They were, of course, the letters of Malik's stalker. Sitting on a messy bed in a full suit, Rishid stared at the wall, supporting himself up by his forearms on his knees. Not acknowledging her in the slightest through body language, he turned slowly around to face her.

"I know."

Isis stared at him, watching the emotions that flitted across his usually hard face. She didn't know what to do, what to feel. What was she supposed to do in this situation? What was she _ever _supposed to do? Rishid was hurting, and so was she. They had been for a very long time. She could se it in the very wrinkles that had appeared since Malik's _departure_. The stress had climbed to a insurmountable height, a constant burden and guilt on their mind: what could they have done to prevent the horrors of Malik's abduction?

"Rishid…?" Isis took a tentative step in his direction, crossing the threshold of the doorway into his room. Her footsteps continued when he did not object. Reaching his side, Isis sat down next to him on his bed, and tentatively wrapped her arm around his shoulder and hugged him softly. "Rishid… it's not your fault. It wasn't your fault, or my fault, or anyone else's fault. It was no one's fault other then the heinous monster who did this, and you have read the letters enough to know that you could have done nothing to stop it. We didn't know, none of us did. …We'll get him back, Rishid, you know we will. Malik's strong, he can get through this, and we will get through this along with him, too. Don't punish yourself over it, it helps nothing. The best thing to do is for us to get through this with a strong faith; we _know_ he's alive! And right now, we're going to go see someone who thinks that he might know where he is. S-see? Everything's o-okay, it's a-all right, Rishid! H-he's okay, he's o-okay!"

It was Rishid, in the end, who did the comforting, and Isis, in the end, was the one who broke down. But she couldn't help it. The words did nothing to comfort her, yet they fell from her mouth like a seething river of fear cloaked in optimism; Malik was not okay. It had been more then three months, and no word was ever heard. She knew what Malik's stalker wanted from him, and now that he had him, she forced herself to not think of the horrors he was being put through, yet knew with an instinctual knowledge that he was suffering. But she had to say he was safe, just to comfort her own self with her fears.

It was not comforting to know that Malik was alive. The most that it did, was further her guilt, and wish to end her agony of knowing that he was, in fact, alive and living all too much with the man who claimed to love him.

--

The business complex of their attorney's office was made of dark brick and grey siding, a cold welcome as Rishid pulled into the gravel driveway, the car bumping a bit with the little rocks. Butterflies of anticipation ate at Isis's stomach as she clutched her purse in her lap as the car came to the stop. The headlights flickered off (why were they even on? It wasn't dark out. Rishid had so many new, odd habits now that they were… the only two left in the house), and he parked the car.

Her hand was shaky around the door handle, and Isis paused a bit before getting out. This could really be it, this could lead them to Malik's current position if the information was accurate. It could all be over, and she could hug her brother one last time, and many more, knowing that he was safe with them once again. A sudden rush of emotion came to her, and she tried desperately to stuff it down, taking a deep breath. Looking up at the building with renewed courage, Isis opened the door and stepped out, walking behind her adopted brother up the cement path to the right door number.

The outside of their attorney's office was plain, just a regular brown door, and a black number and name plate to show who worked there. The mat at their feet that said 'out fishing' was a sad attempt at personalization in such a dreary atmosphere. Letting Rishid knock, Isis stepped back a little, the butterflies returning. She felt sick- at the same time that it could be a lead, it could also be a dud, and she would have gotten her hopes up only for them to be crushed back down.

Waiting for what felt like forever, the door finally opened, and the serious face of their attorney appeared. He was a man withered by time although he was only fifty.

"Come in, and we can get started as soon as possible."

Ushering them in with a hand, Mr. Morrison closed the door behind them and smiled briefly before moving to sit behind his desk near the back of the room. The room was painted pale brown, void of any personality or warmth, just like the outside of the building, a couple of potted plants dotting the floor. And continuing the pattern, the one bit of personal item in the room was a figurine of a fish hooked on a line on his desk, and a small picture of his daughter next to it.

Taking a seat in the green plush chairs, Isis settled down, and folded her hands politely on top of her knee, masking the raging emotions inside of her. Looking over at Rishid and his hard face, she patted his leg reassuringly, and watched as he relaxed just a little bit and smiled shakily at her.

"So," their attorney, Mr. Morrison, took out a pen and paper onto his desk before addressing them, "as I'm sure you know, this is our guest who says that he may have accurate information on the whereabouts of your brother. Mr. and Ms. Ishtar, this is Mahir Ismail. Mr. Ismail, these are the brother and sister of said missing person." Gesturing to the right of the room, Isis took a good first look at the man who sat across from them.

The first thing, she noticed, was his race. It came as a surprise to her, having not truly expected to meet another of an Arabic race so close to home, but kept her surprise under control, wondering if he was Egyptian as well. The second thing that she noticed was his unnatural combination of dark skin and light hair, making her heart clench as she made the connection between him and Malik. He was not Malik, though, just a pure coincidence, despite the almost exact same markings beneath his eyes. The last thing she noticed was almost eerie handsomeness, and the smile that he wore on his face that seemed to be so kind. Based purely on looks alone and the bias that he could perhaps help them find her brother, Isis already liked him. In fact, if the situation was drastically different and she met him through other means, she could see herself becoming almost instantly infatuated with him.

He sat in a relaxed position, hands on each arm rest, and seemed to be very comfortable. His clothes were nice, he was well polished, dressed well, and seemed to be very… _clean_ for a man, something that Isis approved of very much. She felt horrible, as she looked at him, for becoming so quickly attracted to someone who she had just meant, when her mind was supposed to be on her brother. Clearing her mind, she smiled back at him when he extended his hand.

"Mahir Ismail. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Ishtar. I sincerely hope that I can help you." She gave her own hand, noticing how big his hands were when he shook hers, and shivered a bit at his touch.

"I do, too. But… if you can't, then I appreciate the gesture with my fullest heart." Sitting back after he let go, Rishid shook his hand as well, but remained silent. Isis knew that she would be doing most of the talking.

"Okay, now that the formalities are over and done with," their attorney interrupted the mood as he spoke suddenly, tapping his papers against the desk and adjusting his seemingly old-fashioned glasses, "I suppose that we should start. So, Mr. Ismail, I will be asking most of the question as I am the Ishtars' attorney, but you can ask whatever you'd like as well." He looked over at Isis, and she nodded softly. "And is it okay with you?" The man across from her nodded his consent as well. "Now, then, I suppose that I'll start with your relation to Malik Ishtar. How do you know him, Mr. Ismail?"

Isis turned her head back towards the other Egyptian, watching in interest, and heart beating fast with adrenaline.

"Actually, I did not know him personally. I knew him from a network of connections, a friend through a friend, if you will, but I had seen him occasionally, and knew him well enough to call him a one-sided acquaintance." He cocked his head to the side, seeming to think.

"I see." Mr. Morrison glanced down at his papers, scribbling something for a short while before continuing. "So, who was it that you knew him from?"

"Well," he said, sitting straighter up in his chair, "it was my friend's friend, as I said. The friend who I know personally has asked to keep his name disclosed for personal reasons, but _his_ friend… was a teacher at Malik's school. He was there for a short while, taught Biology, I think, but recently left… around the time that Malik disappeared. Needless to say, he was a student of his."

Something felt wrong within herself as Isis listened to the testimony of Mahir Ismail. The alibi itself seemed fine, on the outside, but… something was off. She could keep her wariness under control, though. It was so easy to trust this man. Fundamentally, Isis knew that he would not lie to her.

"Malik's teacher? Do you know his name?"

He shook his head. "Like I said, I knew him as a friend through a friend; I didn't really know him personally, met him only a couple of times, and his name has escaped me over these times that I have not seen him since. The school should hold information, though."

"Ah." More sound of scribbles came from the corner of their attorney's room at his desk, and Isis waited for him to continue. After making a couple of more quick notes, he looked up from his work, and pushed his glasses up higher onto his face in a clichéd manner. "And where were you living at the time that you met this teacher of Malik's? We'll call him Albert from now on, just for clarity."

Mahir paused, making an odd face, most likely at the name that Mr. Morrison chose to dub the teacher. Isis couldn't blame him; what kind of name was Albert? But it was trivial, and she continued to listen intently.

"I was living with Daniel Green, another friend of mine. This was around two years ago.

"So…when exactly did you begin to see Malik Ishtar, which would be the presumed time when he was being stalked?" Mr. Morrison leaned farther ahead in his chair, resting in arms onto his desk, and looked at Mahir intensely. If it were anyone else, they would have become uneased at his gaze, but the Egyptian looked back calmly. Isis felt her heart skip a little as he looked to her and smiled. He was so handsome… and seemed to be so kind, too.

"Well, as I'd said, this was about two years ago. It started in the fall, I'd say, as that was when my friend started asking me over to his house more. Sometimes he would invite someone else, and this, of course, was where 'Albert' came in. I don't remember the day well, but it was on a Sunday, and it was the first time that I had seen him. He seemed to be relatively calm, nothing much drastic to point to… unnatural traits about him. But the more and more I saw him, it began to show through. He would make offhand remarks about a boy, a student of his. On the outside, it wouldn't appear unnatural, except for the fact that he had pictures of him. And I had, at one time, seen him at the school since I was to meet him with my friend, there, and at that time, he was talking to Malik, but it was obvious from Malik's posture that he was extremely unnerved and scared."

"…And was that the last time that you saw him?"

Mahir paused, and something seemed to creep into his face. It was like a sudden realization of something previously unbeknownst to him… became realized, and he reveled over the new information. The expression was fast, and it was almost missed, if not for the calculating look in his eyes, and the soft but oddly dark smile that came over his face.

"Yes, that was the last time that I ever saw him. But I had worried about the boy- all of his classmates, really, as he seemed to display… pedophiliac tendencies." Mahir sat back, leaning his head onto the back of the chair before sitting up straighter and looking Isis straight in her eyes.

She didn't really know how to handle this information. Yes, she had known for a while now, of Malik's stalker, but would have never imagined it to be one of his teachers. It seemed so wrong, so very, very wrong, in such a fundamental way, able to surpass even the wrongness that she had felt before. She had cried over Malik for many days, many weeks, many months… but even still she mourned deeply in a way that took her over from the inside. It was like a deep chill, an all-over aching feeling of sadness and depression, of realizing more and more the terror her brother had gone through.

Still, she held hope. There was a time for mourning, and then a time to deal with the issues, instead of crying and praying over them. It was a cold mindset, but it was more rational and productive then any other. Isis Ishtar still had hope, and she locked it into the man sitting before her. He was the physical embodiment of her optimism, the sheer thought that her brother might still be returned to her. Within him, she felt a tiny bit of happiness- the puzzle pieces were falling in together. His testimony would help, and possibly lead to a suspect. With him, came her love. She loved this man. She loved him for her brother; she needed to love him, even if they had just met. He would not betray her, would not give a false account of the past. This was who would help them save their brother's life, and was her superficial but stable rock.

"Mr. Ismail…" There was a sound of papers being tapped against the desk once again. "It has been approximately a year since you last saw this boy; how did you find out about his disappearance?"

"I had always been worried, truthfully, but I had seen a flier that Ms. Ishtar here must have put up, and I recognized his face. After all, it is a bit unusual to see another of my race around, so I did not forget him easily."

"Mr. Ismail, please… Do you know where my brother is? Do you have any idea, any possible hint that the man might have given to show where he might have taken him? Please, Mr. Ismail… if there's anything, _anything_ that you can think of…" Isis leaned forward in her chair, eyes searching his face desperately as she wrung her hands together. There had to be more, anything! They had learned so much, a possible lead, but it was not enough. She would not be satisfied, sated, until she was absolutely certain where her brother was.

"I-" There was that look again, that look of knowledge that only he knew, a full recognition of something priory known, but not fully understood, before it left his face once again. "I'm sorry Ms. Ishtar, but I don't. I've given you what I know, and I have not lied to you or kept anything secret. To the best of my abilities, I am trying to help you. I want to help you find your brother. I can understand much more then you might know, the feeling of missing someone so deeply, that the despair is ravenous against your heart, longing for that person to be with you, yet unable to do anything due to… circumstances. I know how it feels to miss someone, and I pity you, I truly do. But the most I can hope for you is that my information is of importance, and that it will help get your brother back."

Her mouth was parted slightly and her eyebrows were furrowed. Her heart raced. She had been expecting too much, and was now crushed, even through every new piece of information that they had learned. She had let herself become hopeful of Malik's immediate return. But it was unrealistic. It would take more time, more effort. And in the meanwhile, both she, Rishid, and Malik would suffer. They were pawns in a heinous game of fate and cruelty. They danced on an open stage as their puppeteers pulled their strings. They could do nothing but wait.

"I see…"

It was quiet, then, and only the sound of their attorney's pencil scratching against the paper could be heard. Isis stared solemnly at the wall, still forever broken emotionally. She knew she shouldn't be upset, but she couldn't help it. Her old immunity against emotions had long ago broken. Leaning back, she waited for her attorney to finish.

Paperwork was handed out to sign when he finished, and they did so silently. It was all technicality. Funny how, in a field of such turbulent strife, pain, and human suffering like the legal field, it was all surmised into cold, lifeless, technical papers. Signing the last one, Isis laid it on her lap and sighed, glancing over to the desk and setting it back down. The same was done with the rest of them. Telling them that they were free to go, Mr. Morrison called Isis over to his desk, where he looked up at her without his usual 'this is business' seriousness.

"Isis… we've gone through this for months, now. I know you, Rishid, and a little from what you've told me, about Malik. I know that you're hurting, but you can't expect this to be over so soon. Don't give up, you can get through this. I have many clients who have suffered, and are suffering currently, and you are one of them. This applies to them, and to you. And although it doesn't make your case any less unique, it is something that we as humans must do. We all go through pain and sorrow, but we still have to move on. But this does not mean to give up hope. Keep faith in me, Isis, and the legal system. We will find your brother, and the man who has taken him from you. Don't worry, even though I know you will. We can get through this, I promise."

She stared down at him for a while, seeming to be a bit hard to his words. She had heard him, heard everything that he said. But she knew it all already. So…why did she still not apply it to her life? Why did she continue to despair? Perhaps it was, as he put it, only human…

"Thank you, Peter, really… thank you, for… everything that you've done."

He smiled, and seemed to grow into his age. Old and kind, a fatherly figure. He stood, and patted her on the shoulder a couple of times, before she smiled one last time and left the office.

Isis pulled out her cell phone as she stepped out into the sunlight and shut the door behind her. She had two missed calls from the museum, but wasn't in the slightest bit of mood to check them. She didn't know what to do with herself… Now that she had gone through so much emotional and physical stress, the most she wanted to do was just try to relax once she got home. It would make her feel guilty, though… relaxing when Malik was still not home, and was still in so much pain.

Turning away from the car so that Rishid did not see her as she started to feel tears come to her eyes, she paused, hand on her mouth, as she heard her name called.

"Ms. Ishtar!" It was Mahir, who was unlocking his car, but stopped when he saw her come out of the office. He yelled to catch her attention, but not too loud. Softly, she smiled just a bit. She really did like him… "Ms. Ishtar, I just want to tell you good luck." He made his way over to her, hands at his sides, and patted her on the back just as Mr. Morrison had done.

"I-…" She didn't know what to say, or what to do. What was there to say? "I… yes… thank you. Thank you so much, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this all, really, really. I-I don't know what to say, I just- I- I-I miss him so much that I can't keep myself under control. I d-don't know what to do, I'm just so s-scared…"

Somehow, despite her better judgment, or even despite her rational mind, she felt herself crying, sobbing, and felt Mahir Ishtar hugging her as she did so. It was a simple gesture of human affection, and from someone so handsome, so polite, kind, intelligent… She wanted to see him again. Maybe it was purely a sort of rebound affect, needing a sort of stable part in her life while everything else was such a confusing haze. Or perhaps it was because she _was_ an adult… Again she felt horrible, guilty, but because of Malik, she had never pursued a romantic relationship. She had been attracted to other men, but had not dated, focusing on her family and work. But now that… Malik was gone, she… could. Mr. Morrison had been right. Malik was gone, and until they had a solid idea of where he was, she could do nothing about it, no matter how much she guilt tripped herself over it. Mahir Ismail could be what she needed, something to bring her a sliver out of depression. If in any case, even if he turned out to not be as much as she esteemed him as, she could still try. It would be something to take her mind off of her brother, at the very least.

Wiping her hand over her cheeks where her tears had stopped, she laughed softly, though her eyebrows were still furrowed. She had gone through all that time to put on makeup, too, and she had gone and cried… Mahir seemed to understand, and smiled softly, hugging her softly once more before letting go.

"This isn't what I was hoping to do, really, at all. I apologize if I upset you, in anyway." Isis looked down at her high heeled shoes, feeling suddenly embarrassed, as if the emotion had been postponed through her earlier sadness.

Mahir laughed a bit, his blonde hair moving with the breeze. "No, no, if anything, it's nice to know that you care so much. It makes me so much more glad that I made this appointment with you."

"If-" Would she really ask it, and so suddenly, too? Isis bit her lip in a conflicted desire to ask to speak with him again. But she needed it, and so she would act as bold as she could. "If… you ever want to… just talk to someone, just for fun, just if you want anyone to listen, I'll give you my number… if you want…." She felt silly, like a little girl, and that same still guilt plagued the back of her mind.

Mahir seemed to be a bit shocked, a general expression of surprise coming over his face before laughing and smiling again. "Ms. Ishtar, that was my job! You've beat me to it, it seems, though. But yes, gladly. I know that I'd love to talk to you again, even if the times are rough. Here, give me your number, and I'll add it to my contacts…"

Isis was just a bit short of content as she opened the door to their car, and slid inside, buckling her seatbelt. She looked at Rishid, and smiled softly. Even if she had been horribly disappointed, some good had come out of the whole ordeal… Maybe she could begin to start thinking more positively… Wondering when Mahir would call her as he had promised, she failed to remember to notice that the name on his cell phone did not match up with the one that he gave her.

* * *

Mariku watched as the Ishtar's car left the parking lot. He leaned forward on the steering wheel as he thought over what had just happened. Isis was such a fool. Flipping open his phone, the first thing he did was make a move to delete her number, but paused. It…would be good to have contact with Malik's family, to deter them when they found out that his testimony was completely fake. Mariku smiled.

The day had gone surprisingly well, better then he expected. They had taken the bait so easily, without a fuss. The papers that he had signed to show identification were completely useless, absolutely phony, along with the hideous name that he had made up for an alias. Starting up his car, Mariku wondered what expression the man who he had used as a scapegoat would wear when the police showed up at his house, proclaiming that he would be under search and investigation for kidnapping. Truly, it was hilarious.

Because it had just been so _easy._ The hardest part of the entire ordeal was getting his plane ticket back to their home city, and having to live without Malik for the couple of days that he had been gone. Mariku frowned, longing suddenly for his boy, as if he had been away for years. Three days… he wanted to see him, to talk to him, to touch him so badly… But in a way, he had grown closer to him by being away. Mariku now knew his family, by first name, and had the number of his sister's cell phone. It was a great convenience.

Glancing at the street for cars, Mariku turned onto the road that would take him to the airport. He rolled down the window and switched on the radio. It sure was hotter down here then it was in Minnesota… He hadn't lived in the city for so long… He liked it better, here. This was his home, after all, where he had grown up, and there was so much more life and people. Mariku didn't like being alone, it was what he hated the most He needed companionship, craved it, and missed the noisy streets of the city. But he had traded it all for solitude, away from society, so he could live with Malik without interruption or judging eyes. None of them would approve… It didn't really matter, though. None of them cared for Malik as he did, either.

He really did do so much for him. Mariku smiled as he imagined when Malik would realize it. He _was_ on his way, after all. Already he had dropped his silly game of denying his love, and confessed that he loved him, too. Malik didn't say it often, had only said it once, but Mariku knew, like always. He didn't fight him as much anymore. He didn't cry as much anymore. And when Mariku laid his head onto Malik's chest and heard his heart, he knew it raced with love and not absolute terror.

--

The plane ride had made him entirely too tired. He was to the point where all he wanted to do was go home and hold Malik and sleep. It had been three hours, and it wasn't as if the seats had been all that comfortable, either. The flight attendant had been ditzy, had gotten on his nerves, his bags had to be checked twice due to some fuck up in the security department, the ride had made him sick, and he had almost missed his flight because the woman who took his ticket was too damn incompetent to just put in his number and let him leave. It had been lucky that he had not let himself get too mad. He hadn't been taking his medication for a while… But really, none of that would matter once he got home, though.

Mariku was glad to be back in his own car. It reminded him of home, and was overcome with a sudden feeling of nostalgia as he hit the turnpike that would take him to his exit. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt nostalgic. Maybe it was because of his mosnomered meeting with Malik's family that made him realize everything that had happened. He had loved the tears that Isis had shed, after all. It showed what all he had, how lucky he was, and it proved that he had been right. He _had_ been right. They had never cared about Malik, none of them, and only missed them once they realized exactly what they had lost. Mariku hummed. It was too late for her, for his brother. They had had their chance; what was one man's trash, was another's treasure. And he couldn't deny the sadistic pleasure that he had got while he had watched her cry, as well. He had created that sadness, that depression, and all that he had done was gain from it.

He spent the rest of the trip thinking only over what there was left to do, what possible outcomes there would be to his intrusion into the investigation. They would realize, eventually, that the man he had claimed who had stolen Malik was the wrong person. And after that, well… Perhaps he would have to resort to more drastic measures. If Malik's brother, what was his name…?, Rishid…?, if he were to _disappear_, then, well… Malik would no longer be the epitome of his sister's worries.

Malik… He wondered how he was doing, if he had gotten along well with Bakura. The idea didn't rest easily in his mind, and he gulped, feeling guilty for leaving him at home and not by himself. And Bakura, too. It wouldn't hurt to talk to him, to ask how things were going, and he still had a ways to go, to, before he got home… Mariku reached into his pocket, having to shift a little in his seat before he pulled his cell phone out. He kept one hand on the wheel as he glanced from the phone to the road. Flipping it open, he wondered if Bakura would be sleeping, and would get mad if he called so late. Well, late for him, at least. On the days that Bakura was actually home, he went to bed early.

It rang once, then twice, and Mariku was growing impatient by the third ring. Bakura shouldn't have gone to bed when he knew that he was coming home that night… Tapping his finger angrily on his steering wheel as he turned onto his exit that took him through town to his secluded house, he sighed when he finally heard the phone get picked up, right before the answering machine went off.

"'Lo?" Bakura sounded groggy, which only made him more angry, but he let it slide.

"Bakura? Why are you in bed? It's only eleven, and it's the weekend-"

"Shut up." Ah, there he was, waking up. Mariku could hear rustling in the background, and a loud sigh. Probably him getting out of bed. "I was fucking tired, and I don't want to hear you complaining at _me_ when _you've_ been gone for three days."

He felt a little guilty, hearing the slight tone to Bakura's voice, that might have just been from sleep, though he doubted it. It wasn't really that bad, though, was it? It had just been for three days… Bakura paused when Mariku said nothing, staying silent.

"So…how was it?"

"What, the interview?"

"Well, what do you think I'd be asking for, Mariku?" His tone sounded a bit annoyed, but not really angry. Mariku wondered what he was doing, suddenly getting the urge to want to sleep with him. They hadn't in a while, after all.

"Oh, well, honestly? It was… well, really easy. I was expecting something a bit more challenging. You would think that if someone gave information to a legalized investigation, that they would do a background check. They're all fucking morons, Bakura, all of them. And it'll work, too. They'll spend all of their time chasing after Malik's teacher, the idiots. They don't deserve him. I told you that I was fit to have him, I told you that I'm not hurting him. Malik doesn't deserve to have people so stupid take care of him. You'll see now, Bakura, you can't deny it any longer. …How's Malik?"

There was silence on Bakura's end, that time, and Mariku frowned a bit before he spoke. Bakura's voice was soft and somewhat out of character. "He's…good. He's been really…quiet. Mariku… When you get home, I-"

"Quiet? What does that mean? Bakura, you haven't hurt him, have you!?" He grew a little panicked, furrowing his eyebrows even though Bakura was not there to watch him, only the road as he drove through the small town that was on the outskirts of Minneapolis. It hadn't been a good idea to leave Malik alone with Bakura, but he hadn't honestly thought that he would have hurt him…!

"No, Mariku, I haven't." There was a sigh on the other end, and Mariku instantly relaxed, giving one as well. Mariku turned the wheel sharply when his road came to the dead end, the road becoming a bit bumpy as he drove onto the long driveway to his house. It was a small thing, but Mariku hadn't really noticed the snow melting. Everything was becoming green again, and not just the dark pine trees. "But I told you, or, well, I was telling you before you flipped out, that- …I need to talk to you when you get home."

That sentence within itself was odd. What was there to say that couldn't be said over the telephone? But what really hit him was, again, the tone of voice that he used. He wasn't being much like himself…

"Okay. I'll be home in about five minutes." He smiled. He had missed Malik, and Bakura, too. It would be good to be back home. Mariku hadn't been gone long, but he longed for Malik almost more then he did when he had stalked him, and knew that he was obsessed with his boy. "Hey, Bakura… before I go, tell Malik to go to my room. Lock the door behind him so that he stays there. I'm going to stay with him tonight, so don't interrupt us."

Another pause, this time, longer then the last. "…Okay. I'll see you when I get home, Mariku."

"Alright."

"I lo-"

He had hung up quickly, and missed what Bakura had said as his parting line, having not expected him to talk again. It had sounded like he was going to say 'I love you,' but Mariku doubted it, considering their recent relationship. Bakura had not loved him in so long… He couldn't remember when he had last proclaimed love to him. Mariku could not let himself be fooled - Bakura had moved on, and maybe, so had Mariku.

-

There was a feeling of complete unexplainable happiness as Mariku opened the front door and kicked off his shoes. He felt so complete, like nothing would ever be taken from him again. It was dark, but it was home, and Mariku wore a smile as he walked a bit clumsy across the living room to the kitchen where a light was on inside. Holding his hands out and touching the doorway of the kitchen, he shivered at the slightly colder room as he stepped into it. Mariku turned, looking over at Bakura who sat at the table.

"Welcome back."

He didn't really know what to say, or what Bakura wanted him to say. It wasn't easy to act as if nothing was wrong with their relationship. He felt embarrassed, as if the entire world was watching him try to scramble for any words to reply as.

"Yeah. It's good to see you." A lie? It was good to see him.

Bakura seemed tense and a bit cold, only wearing a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare. His arms were crossed over his chest. "Mariku, I have to talk to you." He had known that already, but played along, wondering what was so important as Bakura motioned for him to sit in the chair next to him.

He walked towards him, confused and worried. There was something off about his expression. Sitting down in the wooden chair, Bakura took his hand, and Mariku flinched a bit as he leaned in towards him. He wasn't used to Bakura touching him, really. Even when their relationship had been good, he had never touched him unless he wanted to have sex with him, or he was hurting him. It definitely wasn't expected.

The way that Bakura was sitting with him, turned towards him, hand in his hands, and leaned forward… it made Mariku, for some reason, imagine a woman telling her husband that she was about to have a baby. Or at least, something along those lines. Someone about to tell something unbelievably good. And if it were not for the expression on Bakura's face, Mariku might have been fooled into thinking that it was going to be something good. But Bakura was never upset, never let his expressions show, and when he did, there was something horribly wrong.

"Mariku… I want you to listen to me, long and hard. I want you to listen and _understand_ what I'm saying. I know that it'll be hard for you, I understand, you know I understand. But you need this, and I think it would be best for me to tell you…" His expression was so pleading, so beyond anything that he was used to, and Mariku instantly became worried. Was-… was Bakura trying to leave him? His heart clenched with sudden and terrifying coldness, his world starting to crumble.

"B-Bakura-"

"No, Mariku, listen. Don't talk, just listen. Just _listen_ this one time, listen for me, for him…"

"O-okay…" He calmed a bit, though there was still something in his throat that would not leave. Bakura squeezed his hand harder, but gave no reassuring smile. Taking a deep sigh, Bakura closed his eyes before looking back up at him.

"When I tell you this, Mariku, you have to promise me that you will not hurt him, that you will not do anything drastic. This is for your own good, and you can get through it, just don't do something you'll regret. I know you haven't been taking your medicine, and this probably won't be the best time strategically to tell you, but… promise me. Just promise me that you won't hurt him."

"I promise, Bakura." Mariku was solemn, scared to know what Bakura was going to tell him, scared of what it might be that would make him so angry, upset that, upon first getting home, his experience was negative, and terrified that the 'him' was Malik.

Another sigh, but it was the last one, and Bakura raised his head to look him straight in the eyes. "Mariku… the reason that Malik is scared of touch is… the reason that he will never accept human contact- Malik- …Mariku… Mariku, his father, he- he raped him when he was a child."

Mariku was numb.

"Mariku… this is something that you have to understand and accept. Malik's fear will never leave him, it will stay with him so long as he lives. It hurts him when you touch him, Mariku. Every time that you touch him, he relives the time that his father abused him. And when you love on him, Mariku, it only furthers his phobia, and hurts him even more."

Mariku was numb. …

"He could never tell you, he has never told anybody. He's kept it with himself ever since it happened. Mariku, he's scared of you. You love him, there's no denying that, and maybe he really does love you as well, but you have to understand that every time you- you make love to him, all it does is make him relive that nightmare, but instead of his father, the perpetrator is you."

…

"You can help him, Mariku, and that will show him more of how much you love him then when you… have sex with him. You can help him learn that you care for him by not touching him. I know that it hurts, Mariku, but you need to know. For both you and him. I want to see you happy, but I can't let you torture someone again. Please, please, Mariku, I- …Mariku?"

"I'm sorry. I have to go." His voice was completely cold. Mariku was numb as Bakura reached out desperately for him as he stood, turning to walk away.

"Mariku, Mariku, wait-!"

But Mariku wouldn't wait for Bakura. He wouldn't wait for liars like him. Instead of waiting as Bakura seemed for him so desperate to do, he whirled around and punched him hard in the face. Bakura fell back, knocking the chair over, his arms behind himself as supported his fall. Mariku's face was completely calm as he stared at Bakura's figure on the ground. So very, very, eerily calm and quiet as he turned slowly and walked from the room, leaving Bakura behind him as he ascended the staircases.

One by one, Mariku walked up the steps, trailing his hand along the handrail. Oh Malik, Malik, he missed him so much. Mariku loved Malik _so_ much, after all. He loved him so, _so_ much that he would _die_ for him. Yes, Mariku would gladly die for his Malik. His wonderful, beautiful Malik who he loved so much. More then anything in the world. His love could not be rivaled, after all. Because Mariku was _truthful_ when he said how much he loved him. Mariku would not _lie_ to his Habibi, he would never _keep_ anything from him. Yes, Mariku loved Malik more then anything in the entire _world._

"Hello, Malik. I've missed you, Malik. It's good to see you, Malik. I love you, _M-Malik._"

"Mariku…" He was sitting on his bed, the remote to the T.V. in his hands, and a program played on the screen. Something inside of Malik's eyes, his mind, seemed to change when Mariku spoke to him, and their eyes met. Everything he saw in him eradicated, and Malik seemed to shrink, somehow. Mariku didn't care.

"I've _missed_ you, Malik." His tone of voice was completely flat. The lights were low, and Mariku kept them that way.

"I-" Malik looked like a little lost child as he stared at him with wide eyes. Malik did not try to smile. "I did too, Mariku."

"Did you, did you really?" Mariku advanced forward, a smile suddenly coming into play on his face. "Did you miss me so much that you felt sick in yearning for me, Malik? Did you miss me so much that you could barely sleep at night, mourning over my missed presence beside you, Malik? Did you miss me so much that you thought you would die from loneliness, Malik? Did you miss me as much as I missed you, _Malik!?_ IT'S OKAY, MALIK, YOU DON'T HAVE TO _LIE _TO ME!"

"M-Mariku, I-I-!!" But Mariku slapped him so hard that the words completely left his mouth. A sharp slap rang out through the room, subdued only by the glaring noise of the television. Mariku grabbed the remote out of his hand and crushed the power button so that it turned off. Mariku smiled at Malik's terrified face as he threw the remote hard to the wall, listening as it broke. The silence hurt his hurt his mind. There had to be noise! So Mariku slapped him again, as hard as he could, using all the force he could muster. Malik's neck wouldn't snap.

"It's okay, Malik! You don't have to lie! Tell me how much you love me!" Mariku smiled because he loved Malik _so_ much.

Malik wasn't crying, but his voice sound like sobbing as he pleaded with him. Just like how he had done in the beginning. Malik had never changed. Malik didn't really love him. It was just another lie.

"M-Mariku! Please, please, stop, I don't know why-"

"You did not tell me, my Malik! Tell me if you really love me!"

"I love you!" But Mariku slapped him just the same. Punches were not for Malik, they were for Bakura. Slaps were for Malik, for liars. They left an imprint, just like lies. But unlike lies, the redness of the slap leaves; the affect of the lie does not.

"Really Malik, really!? I don't believe you, Malik! Again!"

Mariku had shoved him down against the bed, had lifted him up by his shirt collar to throw him back hard again, shaking him slightly. Malik began to hyperventilate. Mariku continued to smile.

"I love you!" And another slap.

"Again, Malik, I don't believe you!"

"I-I love you!" Mariku had to switch hands.

"Don't lie to me, Malik! Tell me that you love me, Malik!!"

"M-MARIKUILOVEYOU!"

Silence.

"…Is that so, Malik? Is it really true, Malik? Do you really love me?" His voice was soft and sweet, kind and childish. Mariku smiled and narrowed his eyes down at Malik who looked up from underneath him.

"Y-yes… I'm not lying, I love you, I l-love you, M-Mariku…" He was on the verge of sobbing, Mariku knew. But what was holding him back? Malik cried before when he didn't love him, so why wasn't he crying now? Malik was so fucking stupid.

"That's so good, Malik! Because… if you love me, you will do anything for me." It was a statement. Malik loved him, after all. Malik told him. Malik wouldn't _lie _to him.

Malik himself seemed to go cold and he shivered. He was hesitant with replying. Malik never once questioned why he was being hurt, because Malik knew the horrible things he had done. They had just caught up to him, after all.

"Y-yes…"

"You love me, Malik, and I love you. It's wonderful how we can be so truthful with each other."

Nothing else was said as Mariku moved off of him and stood away from the bed, the springs creaking a little as his weight was lifted. Walking over to his dresser, Mariku pulled out the third drawer from the bottom. He took what he needed out of it, and closed it with his side as he returned to the bed and set the things down next to Malik's head.

"Turn over, Malik." Mariku smiled, showing his teeth.

Malik's whole body was frozen, completely still, looking up with him with wide, terrified eyes. Malik's eyes said everything, but Mariku would not listen. Mariku gave him no time to comply with his demand, and flipped him over onto his stomach. It was then that Malik started to struggle. Mariku moved to sit on top of him, pinning his legs down and keeping his hands on the small of his back, and on his head, shoving his face forward into the mattress. He leaned forward, kissing his ear and the side of his face.

"It's okay to be scared, Malik. Sometimes, different things can be scary, and you're still young, I understand that. But when you love each other, you do things for each other. You have to make up for the horrible, horrible lies that you've told me, after all. You told Bakura, went off crying and lying to my Bakura that your daddy _raped_ you. Now why did you do that, my Malik, when you told me just now that you loved me?"

"I don't know what y-you-" Malik was so tense. He should be relaxed! He finally got it off his chest that he loved him, after all! Mariku kissed Malik softly again on his cheek.

"Is that another lie, Malik? Because Bakura told me all about it, how you made up that horrible lie to try and hurt me. And you know what, Malik!? It worked, didn't it!?! It really fucking worked, did you know that!? YOU SHOULDN'T SAY SUCH HURTFUL LIES, MALIK!" Faintly, Mariku understood that he was crying.

"Mariku-!" And again, Malik was cut off. Mariku heard him gag slightly.

"Ah, ah! No more lies, Malik! I don't want to hear your lies! And this way, you won't be able to lie to me anymore!" Mariku smiled and laughed shakily as he fastened the gag all the way behind Malik's head. Malik was so pretty, such a filthy liar.

His clothes were stripped from him, ripped, in some cases, but Mariku did not care. He could buy him new clothes. Mariku loved him, after all. He would gladly spend money on him. Malik was so, so pretty. So _bea__utiful_ as he lay face down on his bed, completely naked. But Mariku wanted to make him more pretty.

"I've always wanted to do this to you, you know. I was going to wait a little longer, but now that you've gone and told such _dirty_ lies, I think it's okay to do equally as dirty things to you." Mariku kept his sweet voice as he grabbed and restrained Malik's struggling figure. He caught his wrists, tying them together with a black sort of strap behind his back so that he could not move from the torso up. It was relatively easy to subdue him, even though his attempts to escape had gotten desperate once he grabbed his wrists. He tried to kick, but it did no good as Mariku sat on his legs. He cooed to him, and smiled as he looped a matching black sort of collar around his neck. Picking up a similar strap in his hands that matched the ones around his wrists and neck, he clipped it to the collar and his wrists so that it almost resembled a leash. Oh, Malik looked so pretty when he was so helpless. Mariku could hear him sobbing. But he could not see him! What was the point in tears when they could not be fully appreciated?

Mariku grabbed Malik by the hair, jerking his head backward so that he could see his face. Malik's eyes screwed shut in pain, and Mariku reveled at the tears that he saw on his face. How was it that Malik looked even _more_ beautiful in pain!?

"Sh, sh, Malik, don't cry. It's alright, I'm here. Nothing will hurt you when I'm here. It's okay, you see? You're not lying anymore…"

Letting go of his hair suddenly, Malik's upper torso slumped down back onto the bed. Mariku laid down next to him and smiled at Malik's face as he stared with complete depression of soul at him. There was no fight in him, no pleading words. Malik knew what he had done, and now he had to face it. Mariku reached out for him, watching the way he flinched as he twirled a piece of his blonde hair around his finger.

He looked at him for only a while, smiling at his depression. It was only what he deserved, after all. After a while, Mariku sat up, laughing softly at the way that Malik turned to look over his shoulder with completely terror as he did so. Mariku reached down and stroked his cheek before slapping it very lightly.

"Kneel, Malik, don't just lay there."

But Malik didn't move, whether or not he was physically unable to, or just because he didn't want to, Mariku couldn't tell. So he moved him for him, lifting his hips up so that his knees cold hold himself up, torso still lying on the bed.

Mariku's own clothes came off easily enough, and he sighed happily as he touched his free erection. He loved Malik _so_ much, after all. It was just another way to show that he loved him.

Moving forward, Mariku rested his hands on Malik's hips, feeling the way that his body trembled. He leaned onto him a bit, kissing all the way up his back as he listened to Malik's sobs. Malik was so pathetic.

"This is your fault, Malik. This would have never happened if you had not lied. We could have just continued on being happy, but instead you had to go and be hurtful. Why, Malik, why did you do that?"

There was silence on Malik's part, and Mariku reveled as he knew that Malik was gagged, and couldn't speak.

"It's okay, you can tell me."

Silence, again, and Mariku forgot that Malik could not speak, and began to grow angry.

"Why, Malik!? Are you going to lie to me again!?"

There were some little mumbled sounds, muted by the gag in his mouth as he tried to speak.

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP LYING, MALIK! I TOLD YOU TO STOP FUCKING LYING! I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN YOU LIE, IT MAKES ME ANGRY! IT HURTS ME, MALIK!" Mariku's fingers dug hard into Malik's sides, and he heard his agonized sobs as he did so. "WHY ARE YOU SO SCARED, MALIK!? WERE YOU NOT LYING!? IF YOU WEREN'T LYING, THEN IT DOESN'T MATTER ANYMORE IF I FUCK YOU OR NOT! IT'S ALL THE SAME TO YOU! IT DOESN'T MATTER THAT I LOVE YOU, THAT I CARE ABOUT YOU! ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT SOMEONE IS FUCKING YOU, AND YOU HATE IT! SO GUESS WHAT, MALIK!? _I _DON'T FUCKING CARE ANYMORE! YOU LIED TO ME, MALIK! YOU HURT ME! AND NOW I'M GOING TO HURT _YOU._"

It didn't really matter that he used no lubrication, and barely even prepared him. It didn't matter that it even hurt him. All that mattered was that he heard Malik _scream_ beneath him, and he knew that the pain he felt was nothing compared to Malik's. He had wanted to love him, had tried to love him, loved him so much even as he rocked into him, face down, on the mattress with sobs spewing from his gagged mouth.

Pleasure was not on Mariku's mind. It would have been, it should have been, but Malik had ruined everything. It did start to feel good, though, after a little while, as blood started to lubricate himself so that he could thrust into him easier. It was such a complete mockery of everything that he had tried to do for him. He had tried _so hard_ to restrain himself from not doing this to him earlier, but with consent. Now, it didn't really matter one bit whether or not Malik consented. He wanted Malik to hurt. Inside, and out. He could cry and cry, beg him and scream for him, but Mariku would not stop. He would never, ever stop.

Mariku would stop when he stopped hurting.

And Mariku did not know when that would be.

For the first time in his life, Mariku found himself against a wall.

Trapped, with no where to go.

"I love you, Malik, I still do. I'll always, always love you."

Malik was sobbing and crying and screaming and making such agonized sounds. He no longer tried to hold himself up just a bit, merely slumped against the bed and let himself be rocked into over and over again as blood and precum dripped down his leg.

It was fast and hard and rough and animalistic as Mariku felt himself reaching that primordial lust, reaching the complete want to _ravage_ the body beneath him. And he did so. For a long, long while until Malik could no longer cry and no longer scream. Mariku pulled back against the strap he held in his hand and listened to Malik gag as his throat was pulled on. He did that over and over as well, until wonderful climax started to take him over.

Ah, ah, it was so beautiful. Malik and his boy and his Habibi and his body and Malik's screams… He could hear his pants beneath him, his screams-now-turned-soft-little-moans. He could hear everything since Malik's mouth was forced open. Mariku had distance himself from the act- it was the only way he was able to _make love_ to him on his stomach. But Mariku closed that distance just a little when he took Malik's erection into his only free hand and thrust into him harder. It was a way that Malik showed his love to him.

There had been screams and cries and protests and sounds of complete, unadulterated terror, before. But now there was nothing but the sound of Mariku's moan as he finally came inside of him when Malik did as well. As always, it was bliss, but the bliss was defiled and dirty.

Mariku slumped against Malik's back, still inside of him. He breathed softly and shallowly, spent from the act. Malik was absolutely silent and still.

"…I love you, Malik…"

Eventually, he was able to speak, and pulled away from him a bit regretfully. Mariku was still hurting, but Mariku could never stop loving him, even after Malik had hurt him so much. Slowly, he reached over to unstrap the gag from his mouth, watching with lowered eyes as it fell away and Malik furrowed his eyebrows, the first sound out of his mouth a soft, but distinct moan. The restraints were removed as well although Mariku contemplated keeping the collar on him. It really fit him he thought.

Malik's body was completely unresponsive as Mariku turned him off of his stomach and onto his back. He looked over Malik's body, completely unmarked even though he had hurt him so much. Mariku stared at the globs of white and red that mixed together, trailing down his legs. Pulling him close, Mariku leaned his head onto Malik's heart, and listened to his fast heart beat, knowing that it was from love, and not absolute terror.

Malik said nothing, no longer even cried. That, he left up to Mariku, as he mourned for the both of them.

* * *

**Woah, woah, serious mindfuck in this one. I really had fun with writing Isis fall somewhat for Mariku. The creepy level is off the charts.**

**By the end, I hope it's obvious that Mariku sort of snapped. His thinking was more choppy, and, well, not completely sane. And Malik never truly protests, because he continues to tell himself that he loves him. So Mariku, for the first time somewhat realizing that he raped him, and Malik, for taking the rape and continuing to see it as love... mindfuckmindfuckmindfuck They are all woven into a web of intertwining suffering, and none can exist without the other.**


	23. Chapter 23

**It has been a year, now, since I have started writing this. I was going to get all faggy and nostalgic over it, but now I won't, and I'll just conveniently point it out. Anyway, I think all of my updates will be late after this. Updating is a chore, now. Or maybe it's just because I've had so much damn stuff going on. Was grounded for a week from the computer, new girlfriend, slaving away making dog biscuits- fff. So yeah. REEAAAD, LADIES, AND LADIESMAN.**

**OH. And Aleximosaurusmon got my 3ooth review, so she asked for some hot ass Bronzeshipping. HERE IT IS, FOR THOSE WHO FAG OVER THE MY OTP LIKE I DO, AND HERE IT IS BECAUSE I LIKE TO SHOW OFF MY PORN: deviantart .com/art/Sketch-Bronzeshipping-for-103135899 , minus the space after deviantart. Oh the lulz that is a dominant!Malik and a submissive!Amputee!Mariku: basically, the exact opposite of Stalker.**

* * *

Life for Malik Ishtar had almost ceased to exist. He still breathed, ate, woke in the morning, but Malik Ishtar no longer lived. There was no life in his daily routines, nothing there to get him through the day other then a fundamental feeling of comitment.

Malik Ishtar didn't think that he could die if he tried.

Life only consisted of periods of wake and rest, of pain and a temporary numbness to the world. It was no longer a comfort, but his enemy. Even if lies were the foremost in his mind, and his true reality. There was no denying it, whether it be a conscious or subconscious thing; he had given up.

There had been a plan, hadn't there? He had made up a plan to save himself, right? Malik couldn't remember. He wasn't sure if he wanted to remember. It was so stupid, silly. There was no leaving, and he knew it. There was no leaving if he wanted to stay alive. But it was still there, still within him, the basic, fundamental, instinctual hope of escape and survival. Because he was in a state of temporary pause- Malik Ishtar no longer lived, but he was not yet dead. But Malik Ishtar wanted to survive.

Or did he?

Malik Ishtar no longer thought for himself.

Mariku thought for him, made his decisions.

Mariku was his everything.

Mariku took care of him, enabled him to live. Without him, he would die. Just like a parasite. Mariku was so right, had always been right, and if Malik had only listened to him, he would have been able to save one of the few things he had left that were truly his. But he hadn't, and he suffered the consequences.

It had been half a year since Malik had been confined to his white room. He had watched for six months as the snow melted and the world rejuvenated itself, changing the landscape from monotone to a motley combination of color. The world went on without him as he was left behind. Confined in solace. Confined; alone. But with company.

Things were no longer how they were before. They changed, moved on. But was it for the better? Was his life better now because of the passing of time? Malik no longer cried, no longer made himself sick over terror or starved himself from depression. Instead, Malik had adapted. Was it horrible, or was it just human? He had saved himself after all, right?

There was no longer any fight, or wavering lines between Malik and Mariku's relationship. Mariku was dominant, and Malik was forever subservient. He didn't belittle himself through his actions, merely followed what Mariku told and asked of him. He did what Mariku said without a dispute, because Mariku what was best for him, much more then Malik did. Mariku only hurt him because he loved him.

Things were forever different since the night that Mariku come back from his retreat to the outside world. He no longer asked permission, no longer worried about Malik's consent. It was up to Mariku's mood and Mariku's only whether or not he made love to him, and usually ended up doing so. Malik was forever trapped. He could not run and could not say anything to save himself from Mariku's hands on his body.

Mariku took his words to heart, and stayed dedicated to his proposition to making love to him every day. And more then often, it wouldn't be just once. But Malik could say nothing, do nothing but simply lie back and accept his life. All he could merely do was make sure that his knees supported him, and his hair held his expression as Mariku showed him _just how much_ he meant to him.

He had been sore at first. It had hurt bad, like it always had, but Mariku reassured him that it would pass eventually. Though, it still did not relieve him of any pain he felt at the time. It hurt when Mariku prepared him, it hurt when Mariku fucked him, and it hurt when Mariku held him afterwards. It hurt, it hurt. There was an ache that could never leave him, something a little more then just the palpable pain.

He could cry and cry, get on his knees, grovel, and beg him 'no'. Because again, it wasn't the same as it had been before. Before, it was torture beyond Malik's human comprehension, but still he could pull himself through, and it was manageable. No, it was purely for Mariku's enjoyment. Malik did not like to be hit or punched or maimed in any other more creative ways, but it was sometimes hard to tell if more pain came from disobeying, or by following what Mariku wanted of him.

Mariku wanted a lot from him, too much, but still, he got it. Because it didn't matter, it never did. Mariku had seen him cry and beg and plead for, if an outside view saw it, his life. He had grown accustomed to his tears and his sobs and everything that came along with the feeling of pure terror. What Mariku wanted, demanded, Mariku got. If he wanted to tie him up so that the ropes dug into his skin and chaffed it raw, so be it. If he wanted to blindfold, gag him, and keep a rope around his neck, so be it. If he wanted to pull the rope so that Malik feared for his life, so be it. He could say nothing against it.

Doing that, Malik found, was one of Mariku's favorite things to do. He did not disappoint, though. Mariku was very creative, and always found different, alternative ways to tying him up or torturing him. Although, he always reassured him that he loved him. Always, Mariku told him that he loved him. Even in the midst of some of the most excruciating pain that Malik had ever felt. Mariku told him, and Malik believed him. Malik believed, with every fiber in his being, that Mariku loved him. There was no way that he couldn't.

Because if Mariku didn't love him, Malik would surely perish.

Sometimes, Mariku wasn't so cruel. And maybe, it was only Malik's imagination that told him that he was cruel other times. Maybe he was just playing the victim card to its fullest extent. Perhaps the only person hurting him was himself. Maybe it was his mind that was playing the tricks, that was telling him that what Mariku was doing to him was wrong. But Malik couldn't trust his mind anymore. His mind lied to him just like Mariku had said. Mariku loved him, he didn't hurt him. He had never hurt him.

It wasn't anything new that he had to deal with. There were changes in his life, just like always, but Malik lived the same as he had before, in the six months previous. He went through his daily routine. Make his bed, take a shower, get ready for the day- but there was something missing. There had always been something missing, something left behind him at his old home after Mariku had kidnapped him. Mariku hated his sighs, and would oftentimes punish him for them, but Malik couldn't help it.

Everyday brought the same routine, changed only by spontaneous terror and unwanted change. Malik didn't like change. Change was what brought new, horrible things, that he would always regret, even if the fate of them wasn't in his hands. And so he did whatever he could to keep things forever monotonous.

His room was white but tainted. Mariku loved him, he did. But Malik had trouble sleeping in his bed, the bed where- Malik remembered his corner, the one where he used to try and hide himself in the beginning, and would take his blanket and pillow there. It was much safer and less threatening. Malik felt at home in a place where he felt no one could see him or notice him, where he could be easily forgotten, and no harm came to him. It was a better alternative to his bed.

Because although Mariku loved him, and Malik loved him so, so much back, he was still terrified. The terror, his phobia, was something that he could never get rid of, and it was better if he tried to forget. Because forgetting was easy, now. Malik had gotten used to his life, even though he had come kicking and screaming. Through years of practice, Malik could forget about being touched. His only reminders were Mariku's hands on him every night, and those- Malik did not remember, nor did not forget those times. Those times, they were-

It had been a long time, though. Six months since Malik had departed from the outside world. And like always, the world changed with him, even though he hated that more then anything else. His hair had grown longer, and with no one else to go to, Mariku cut it himself. He wanted it short, but Malik objectively refused. Malik was terrified of parting with his long hair; it was one of the only things left that stayed the same from before he had been kidnapped. The few possessions that he had had on him on the day of his abduction, and his school uniform, had all been taken from him. Mariku said that it would be easier to move on without them, so that he wouldn't look back on the past. Malik agreed, but he still refused to cut his hair short, and kept it, again, the same as it had been before.

He still had some reminders, though. The cuts from the rope that Mariku had used to bind him with when he had first kidnapped him had healed over time, but had turned into faint, but noticeable scars around his wrists. They weren't deep, and they didn't raise the skin, but were just shallow parts around the underside and top of his wrists where his skin was just shades lighter. They weren't horrible to look at, but Malik couldn't help but detest them. Malik could lie to himself, couldn't deny who had made them, and for- what reasons…

But still, as it seemed to be the pattern, with every wrong turn, misguided step by fate, he made a right turn somewhere down along the endless path. With the reminder of his scars and the emotions that brought with it, Malik also healed. He wasn't as skinny, but skinny wouldn't be the proper word to use. It had been anorexia, caused by the effects of stalking and his own anxiety. But his stomach was no longer concave as it had used to be, because Malik no longer cared. There was no point in starving himself to try and turn the pain he felt into physical harm, and so, Malik ate. And healed. Physically.

It was enough.

He could be sustained.

Physically.

And as always, Mariku took care of him. He loved him so, so much, more then ever. Mariku loved him more now that Malik was better and Malik loved him back. Mariku always loved him, of course, but, sometimes… Mariku wasn't always the same. He wasn't always the man who took care of him and held him. Sometimes, he was cold. Sometimes, he would leave for long periods of time, and would come home screaming and yelling, without anyone there to stop him. Screaming, always screaming, Malik was his scapegoat for his pent up anger. Malik dealt with it silently, because Malik knew that he caused it. Mariku told him how he was the reason for why everything was wrong, and Malik knew it was true.

He went through periods, spurts, bouts. Mariku's moods were a storm of emotions. Screaming, yelling, hitti- and then he would calm, just a bit. The storm would settle, but it would still thunder loudly in the distance. Mariku would be left alone, in these times. His words still hurt, his hands, his eyes as well, but it was not as severe. A cold gesture to 'come' was a better sign than a belt held in his hands and a demand to 'kneel'.

Although that part lasted the longest, it would stop spontaneously. As if the clouds left to give room to a better array of colors. Mariku would be there in the morning, smiling, and nothing would be wrong again for a long while. The times after Mariku's depression episodes were the best for Malik. Everything was new again to Mariku, and so it was for Malik, as well. It would be as if Mariku again realized that Malik was his, and would love him more then ever. He would kiss him and hold him and everything he promised to him he would stick to. Malik knew for certain that Mariku loved him, even when his smile started to falter, and he looked at him in the way he was used to, and these times only supported it.

In the times of Mariku's manic periods, his money became a means of expressing his love. Mariku had begun to work again, or so Malik assumed, as he would leave for long periods of time, and would always come back with gifts upon gifts. Even if Malik's room stayed forever white, it had finally begun to fill with furniture and possessions. Mariku was difficult at this time, because the gifts were a direct way of saying 'I love you', and so Malik could never deny him of accepting anything that he bought for him. Because Malik wanted nothing. Subconsciously, Malik did not want anything to change. He did not want Mariku's gifts. Mariku's gifts hurt as his room became more and more of a room that reminded him of a normal teenager.

Malik would be alone to think over these things when Mariku once again left. It was never more then five days, but still Malik was left alone in his white, white, white, white room. He didn't know what he did, he never spoke of it when he returned. But Mariku always returned with more gifts, and gifts were bought with money, and money came from somewhere. It was easy to assume that he had started to work, but with nothing to do other then to pretend to read alone in his room while he was away, Malik had thought of other reasons.

One of his theory was supported well when Mariku came home on the phone. He had met someone when he was gone. Maybe from a business trip. It was a woman, or another man, but Malik had never heard the sound of their voice. All he heard was Mariku's, and his side of the conversation. It worried him. It was possible that it was Bakura, but Malik doubted that. What Mariku said back to them was not how he spoke to Bakura, and Bakura had almost ceased to be around. Mariku's words, when he spoke to the person over the phone, made him seem like a completely different person. But Malik was not jealous.

Of course, Mariku would always, in the end, revert back to his periods of extreme anger. He switched truly on a dime. His hands holding him one minute would be beating him the next. Mariku was sick, and Malik didn't know what to do. Because Mariku told him it was his fault, but still- he didn't know what to do. He cried for him, he begged, got down on his knees and pleaded to know how to change himself, but it would never work. Sometimes, Malik would remember the words Mariku spoke to him in the beginning, his pledges and promises. And sometimes, Malik wondered just what would happen if Mariku held his head under the water for just a bit too long.

_With no materials left, it's harder to fix something that's broken._

It wasn't always bad, though. Or good, even. It wasn't always _extreme. _The days, at least, were always calm. It was quiet in the house, and Malik was now allowed to leave his room. It was unspoken, but Mariku knew that he would not leave, or at least, would not try any longer. And Malik knew, as well. There was no escape with his life.

He liked to go downstairs, to the living room. Malik still felt as if he was a visitor looking in, like an open house on a home for sale. Except everything in the house, Malik could touch and have. The only room that Malik was not allowed to enter was the basement. But there wasn't any dark secret locked away, it was just… a rule. Just a senseless rule that adults always seemed to find. He had been down to the basement twice, and didn't really wish to go back. Not that he had found evidence of a murder or anything like that, it was just cold and dark. So Malik stayed on the first level. There was much more to do there, anyway.

It wasn't always just books, books, books anymore. Books made him remember. Malik didn't want to remember. Remembering ruined, and Malik found it easier to live in the moment, even if the moment was worse then some of his most horrible memories. And so… Malik explored. He looked through things, on top of things, read things that Mariku left laying around. Mariku was more complex, Malik found, then just simply the person who loved him. It wasn't exactly something that was confusing to realize, but the concept was hard to grasp. Who was Mariku?

At one point, Malik had found photos. They were old, on a shelf in an album that was hardly used at all. Mariku obviously hadn't taken any time that middle aged housewives do to compose a good looking photo album, but instead just threw them together on the pages. But still, it served its purpose.

Mariku had forever and always been his tormentor, and his lover. He would always be much older then him. But Mariku was human, and he had not always been as Malik saw him. And he had found proof. Expecting to find a random collection of blurry photographs, Malik, instead, was surprised to find the face of a younger Mariku looking back at him. He had been…shocked. Who was this person whose face was as young as his, who looked so eerily like him? It- it couldn't have been Mariku. The look in his eyes differed so much from how he looked now. His expression was not a forced smile, but rather, a forced lack of emotion.

Mariku had worn his hair short, had dressed different, and his posture was completely off. He was not strong and terri-… someone who demanded absolute obedience. Instead, he looked beaten, but vengeful. The hatred in his eyes was so strong, that Malik feared this boy more knowing that he was no longer alive. There were people in the photos with him that he did not know, boys who looked just like the ones that went to his school, just background faces. He was unsurprised to find Bakura in a few, as well. Though, they were distant. Mariku and Bakura never touched, were separated by a person in between them, but Malik saw how Bakura looked at him.

The pictures left him feeling nervous, and a bit anxious. Mariku was still an enigma. But they had done more then just provoke curiosity. They made him remember school, his school, his life. It wasn't really… a _sad_ thing, as he looked back, but more of a feeling of melancholy. He wondered about school, about his friends, and remembered the few times that they had smiled together like Mariku did in his pictures where his expression were not blank. Sometimes, Malik remembered Joshua, and then, the remembering would stop. It was better to just live in the moment.

Mariku had taken up teaching him. Or, at least, what he felt he needed to know. He wasn't dedicated with it, or even taught him on a consecutive basis, but sometimes Mariku would spontaneously decide that Malik needed to continue his education. He'd bought him text books and would assign him pages to read and questions to answer, though he would never actually check over the answers that Malik would give him. He had tested him once, just written nonsense for the answer, and was unsurprised that Mariku did not notice. Mariku didn't care about his education, all he cared about was trying to have Malik believe that he cared.

His theory was supported when Mariku would grow bored. After a couple days of actually seeming to care, Mariku would get fed up and bored with the whole thing. He would grow angry, and confiscate his text books and math papers. There was no need for education, he had said, since Malik no longer had to worry about such stupid things as that. All that an education was used for was to waste your life away for twelve years, and then go to college and waste another four, just to get a job that you would have for less time that you spent in school. Or so, Mariku said. Malik did not miss the bitterness and anger in his voice as he lectured him.

But it made him wonder… Was there anything left? Did Malik have any sort of future left that did not include Mariku? If he- he- …ever managed to leave him, he would be years behind in his education, and it would be too late to try and earn a degree at that state. What would he do in the world without a high school diploma? Without even a diploma to earn the most basic of jobs? How could he support himself like that?

Because Mariku said he didn't have to. Malik would never, ever have to work. Mariku would take complete care of him, as if he would always be sixteen. But it was hard to believe. It was hard to imagine a future where he and Mariku grew old together, or even… old_er._ It was hard to imagine any future at all. It was one of the things that scared him the most when Malik's conscious brain broke down to give away to all of the terror and anxiety that he truly felt. Where…would he go? His sister couldn't afford to take care of him forever, and neither could Mariku. Malik would forever and always be trapped.

The times that Malik's conscious mind broke down were the hardest periods of all, even more then when Mariku relapsed. It was as if his collective terror that had built up and been stored inside of him was released all at once in a massive convulsion of realization. _Malik was trapped. Malik had been raped. Malik was being tortured. There would never be any escape._ _Malik's life was over. _And he didn't know how to deal with it. He had tried to deal with it by ignoring it, but when that did not work, Malik was at a loss, and his corner would once again become his favored place.

It was only when Mariku was away that Malik remembered. With Mariku, Malik could forget and dwell only on the present. But with Mariku gone, there was nothing left to occupy his mind with, and he started to revert back to his first state of mind. Malik had remembered the early days, when he had broken down and sobbed and beat his fists on the door of his cage, the door to his imprisonment. He remembered starving himself to try and deal with the pain, and he remembered the depression. He remembered, most of all, why everything was happening to him.

Why everything had happened in the first place.

Mariku, Mariku.

He knew who Mariku really was.

Malik felt nostalgic when he broke down and cried, when he sobbed and rocked back and forth with his head between his legs and his hands pulling at his hair. It hurt worse then any physical pain that Mariku could inflict upon him. Instead, Mariku hurt him emotionally, even after he had been gone for days. There would be nobody home when Malik broke down, complete silence as he sobbed and screamed and begged to die and be forgiven. The house was his own to curse against, or, he thought.

The first time that Bakura had showed up since their talk had surprised him. He had been gone for a very, very long time after Mariku had- made love to him in his room. Malik had heard Mariku and Bakura fight before he had come upstairs, and supposed that was the reason for his absence. But, his return was not expected other then the link to the phonecalls Mariku made of a different kind to a different person.

He showed up spontaneously, and Malik had not heard the door open or shut on his return. But Bakura had heard him. And when he slammed open his door, Malik's mind instantly seemed to heal itself, and the memories were once again sealed until they were ready to burst again.

Bakura was never kind, and never would be kind, but he did the next best thing, and forced him to stand on his own to feet and live like he always did. It was awkward, at least, on Malik's part. He still did not know who Bakura really was, or what he wanted, even though he had told him. Bakura was a sort of motley puzzle whose pieces didn't exactly fit together the right way. His pieces were the kinds that you had to slam your fist down upon to get them to stick, and even after that they would still resist where they were supposed to be connected.

He treated him in a sort of casual way, although he was cold. Bakura had always been cold, but Malik wondered if it was just a ploy, a front that he put up. …Just like Malik did. Because Malik remembered what all Bakura had told him, and knew that he was not truly the sidekick villain that he had thought he was. When Bakura would remind him through somewhat coarse words that Malik could, and would survive… Malik could live. It was unspoken, but still, Malik knew that he was _there_. Bakura was no longer the demon on his shoulder, but he was not an angel at all, either. He was merely a biased bystander with violent and cold tendencies, but who would dust him off and stand him back upright again.

Mariku seemed to accept Bakura living in his house again. They hadn't really talked much, from the few instances that Malik had seen them together, but he knew that their relationship, however complicated, wasn't completely dead. But, something had changed. Something in Bakura's demeanor was different, and so was the way that Mariku talked to him. Having always seemed to be oddly more dominant then Mariku, Bakura had now given up on his role.

He wasn't around more then often, though. He would come as he pleased, would be sitting on the couch with the remote in his hands one day, and his shoes would be gone the next. Malik didn't know where he went when he wasn't at home: did he have another house, or did he stay with someone? Who? It didn't really matter, but still, he was curious, because every time he came back, he was exhausted and seemed somehow more beaten every time.

There _was_ just something so very off with him. Malik remembered when Bakura used to terrify him. Of course, Malik had become less scared as time progressed and he learned that he was not the psychopathic killer he thought he could have been, but, still. There was something gone that had been there in the beginning. There was just something about him that used to make him terrifying, domineering, that was now just…gone. And it was so easy to tell when Mariku would enter the room and Bakura would divert his eyes.

Bakura and Mariku acknowledged each other, even if they didn't speak often. Their looks and body language said enough, just as the long silence did as it stretched between them. They were actors, playing mute people on stage. But behind the scenes, there was something more then that, and Malik did not have the backstage pass to know what it was. But when Bakura would take Mariku away for periods of time, Malik was left alone to try and decide whether or not he wanted to know what they were doing.

But Bakura left often, as always. Sometimes he would leave for more then a few days, though, like Mariku did, and would leave for weeks on end. Fundamentally, it scared him. Because although Bakura was no where near a friend or anything of the sort, Malik didn't want him dead or hurt. Or maybe… it was just that Malik was afraid to be truly alone with Mariku, with no one there besides them. Bakura would always come back, though, even if a little worse for wear, and every time he did, he seemed to become even more sympathetic as he saw Malik's state weaken.

And as time went on, Malik realized that without Bakura, he would have nobody. He wouldn't have 'nobody left', because for that to be true, it would have to mean that he had had Bakura in the first place. But Bakura was the only person that he had, the only other person in the world besides his tormentor who knew that he was still alive, who would try to protect him, and knew what he was living through. And if Bakura left permanently… Malik realized that… he then would have nothing left.

There would be no one there to pull him away from the brink.

Malik would be truly alone.

* * *

Malik furrowed his eyes nervously as he pressed himself up against the wall that his bed lined. He focused his eyes on a single spot of the wall, and refused to move them. He strained his ears to listen hard to make out the words that were being screamed downstairs. Malik's hands tightened into fists as he felt a slight tremor of fear. Fear, fear, he knew fear well, and he didn't want it back.

'_Don't move your eyes from the spot on the wall_.'

There was a loud crashing sound as the voices grew louder, and he flinched back just a bit. Forcing himself to try and not become scared, Malik closed his eyes and moved back closer against the wall. With emotions came other emotions came remembering and remembering brought pain. But this week was a bad week for Mariku, and Malik didn't know if it would even matter if he tried to save himself from pain, as it would probably happen sooner then 'eventually', anyway. He shifted his legs underneath himself to hide the bruises that had only started to fade.

The voices softened for a moment, and Malik looked nervously to the white wall that he had his ear up against. Was it over? Did he- But no, Malik's train of thought had been wrong, and he squeezed his eyes shut as Mariku yelled the loudest that day, a few good, chosen words filtering through the plaster in his wall. He couldn't help himself from growing scared, then, as he wondered who was winning the argument. …He almost laughed at that. …Almost.

More replies to what Malik hoped was the rising action of the argument, and then there was a loud slam. It must have been the front door, because he could feel tremors of the slam throughout the house and all the way up to his bedroom, where it rattled the frame of his bed. And then- it was quiet. Quiet apart from Malik's thudding heart.

Nothing moved, made any noise downstairs, and Malik furrowed his eyebrows harder to try and hear. That was, before he heard the faint sound of footsteps coming upstairs. Jerking away from the wall as if it was alive with fire, Malik's eyes grew wide. Had- had Bakura won the argument, or- or had Mariku-…?

Malik was terrified as he began to shake, terrified of his own terror as he slowly began to inch his way to the corner where his bed met the wall. His legs met his chest as he wound his arms around his knees and shook, trying hard not to cry as the footsteps started to become audible without having to strain to hear.

H-He was so scared. This was one of Mariku's worst weeks, the worst of the worst times, and Malik was terrified of what he would do to him. It wasn't the night yet, and already Mariku was so angry. Malik squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head down behind his arms. He didn't want to be hurt, he had been good that day! M-Malik loved Mariku! He didn't want to be hurt, he had done nothing wrong, but Mariku would hit him and burn him and cut him and beat him and tie a rope around his neck and-!

Malik choked on forced air into his lungs as he heard the footsteps on the last flight of stairs. But there was nothing he could do, he couldn't run, he was trapped, trapped! And Mariku would hurt him so badly, without any kind words, without any sort of hint that he still loved him. And Malik didn't know what to do, where to go. There had to be something! Anything that he could do to, to-

"He's gone, Malik."

Malik's stomach dropped, his heart froze, his blood ran cold, and his body physically adapted to meet the figures of speech. At least, before he recognized the voice.

The few minutes and seconds after realizing that the object of terror is gone is the worst of any, even of the rising fear. The feeling of his heart beat reverting back to normal as his mind came out of fear made Malik feel like he wanted to be sick as he slowly unraveled his legs and arms away from himself. Moving his face into his hands, Malik shuddered as he exhaled slowly before lifting his head back up.

"…Thank you."

Malik had grown, adapted, become used to his new life. His voice did not waver as it had used to, and his stuttering did not make him as pathetic as he had used to be. But still, Malik had been scarred, and would always have a tendency to be menial.

"I- …yeah. You know…" Malik frowned, and looked to the side, diverting his eyes from Bakura's face. He knew what he meant; he didn't have to elaborate. Bakura knew all too well.

Bakura matched his frown as he looked away, and moved to walk around his room, criticizing what all he had with narrowed eyes and a pursed mouth. Stopping in front of a rack of Cds that Mariku had bought for him after deciding that he needed something more 'artistic' in his life, Bakura turned back to him.

"Are you going to let him?"

"…What?" Malik looked up to meet his eyes slowly, reluctant, and not quiet sure of what he meant.

Turning to look at him full on, Bakura crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. Although his posture was casual, the mood, and the expression on his face was anything but. "Are you going to let him hurt you, Malik? Without saying a word? Will you continue to scream for him and beg for him without ever objecting?"

"I-"Again, he stuttered. But… What was the answer to that? Was there an answer? There wasn't; Malik had asked himself the very same thing hundreds of times before. It was easy to ask those questions, and come up with the answer that he could, he could fight back, but… It was easy to say he could fight back when there was no immediate danger. But once Mariku was actually with him, the answer was much, much different. "I… I can't. You know I can't. I love him, anyway… He's just hurting…"

Bakura seemed to be a bit disappointed, but unsurprised with his answer. He sighed, but kept his eyes on him. "Hurting is when someone screams at you to die, wishing you were dead, and offering to kill you themselves." Malik's calmness wavered a bit when he realized what Bakura was referring to. "That's what hurting is. Hurting is not what Mariku is doing. Mariku isn't hurting that way. For something to hurt, it has to be a sudden pain from the usual numbness. What Mariku has- does-… He's had it his entire life. Mariku's hurting isn't new: it's a disease."

Malik was silent as Bakura began to move again, walking slowly around the perimeter of his room. "This is the first that you've seen of it, but it's not the first that the world's seen. I suppose that you were a sort of temporary panacea. Because he loved you, still loves you, Malik, but having you was such a drastic, wonderful change for him, that- his disease was _cured_ for a bit. But-" Bakura stopped a couple of feet from the side of his bed, and moved his eyes to the side, looking at something that wasn't there, and remembering something that Malik didn't know. "I think he's reverting back. I think he's gotten used to you, and now it's going to repeat… Because he has you, he _knows_ he has you, and you can't leave him like she did…"

The words Bakura spoke were for him, and yet, they were not. Bakura's words were like a musician's performance: they might have been playing for the crowd, but the music and the instrument itself were solely for themselves. Sighing, Bakura looked at him again, and Malik saw the weight of knowledge and stress that weighed upon him, and he once again was reminded of someone who had been beaten.

"It can't go on forever."

"I don't want to leave…" _I can't leave._ Lies, lies. Saving lies. "It has to, I can't leave, Bakura. It's my fault, it-"

"Shut up- you don't even know."

Malik flinched back slightly, taken aback by Bakura's sudden firm words, even though they were not meant to be cruel. It was just how Bakura spoke. Shifting, Malik moved his head to a low angle.

"I don't know-…what?"

Looking down at him, Bakura looked, for an instant, suddenly sad, before his expression switched to something somewhat resembling pity. "Anything, Malik, you don't know anything. He hurts you and beats you and touches you and loves you- for every reason that you don't know. You're the center of his life, and yet… you know nothing. You don't even know who he is."

"I know who he is, I-"

"The hell you do!"

Maybe Malik had retorted just to contradict. Or maybe, it was because… Malik did love him, and he didn't want to admit to himself that maybe… he was only a tool to him, a play thing, a pet. Mariku told him he loved him, and yet, he told him nothing…

A sigh on Bakura's half. "Look- you don't know him, you don't know who he is, what he's gone through. All Mariku is to you, is how you see him when he comes into this room and rapes you and tells you that he loves you. That's it, that's all. There's more then that, though, but you'll never know what it is."

"…Why?" Malik did not deny any of his words. It was okay when someone else said them.

Bakura paused, and seemed to be taken off guard. "…Why? Why?" He looked a bit lost, like he didn't know what to do. "Because… Mariku will never tell you."

Malik, then, was lost, too. Did he truly wish to know who Mariku was, or was it only that he didn't want to be left in the dark? But there had been someone 'before'… And maybe…-

"I want to know, Bakura." Malik's voice was flat as he made his decision. His heart pounded as each word left his lips, just like his heart had pounded in terror when Mariku had moved on top of him. "I want to know why. I'm scared, Bakura, and I want to know. I'm tired of being hurt, hurt, hurt! I don't want him to beat me anymore! Tell me, Bakura! I don't want this anymore!"

"Are you sure?" Bakura's words and eyes were sharp and fast as he pivoted to face him face forward. "Are you sure you want to know? Or do you want to stay in the dark, a fool, just a pretty, unknowing fool?"

There are always questions before forced endings of life. 'Do you want to live?' 'Do you wish to repent?' 'Will you do whatever it takes to stay alive?' And this time, it was Malik who stood before the council, unseeing, blind, with a cover over his eyes and his limbs restrained, unable to run as he was forced to face the questions, and his own answer. And so Malik gave his, and sealed his fate.

"Yes."

* * *

**Short because I'm lazy, and I really just needed it for a transition chapter. But for so few words, a hellova lot happened, though. Hurrah for abuse and hinting at BDSM fucking. Also, if you're completely retarded, Mariku does, in fact, have Bipolar Dissorder. I thought I made it somewhat clear in the chapters before without directly stating it, but I guess not. And now I get to write Mariku and Bakura in High School. LET'S ANTI-REJOICE TOGETHER, because once you start high school fics, you then go to angel/demon fics and then-oh god, someone, hold me.**

**There are four chapters left. I want twenty reviews for this. I have the next chapter written. I am withholding it until I get those twenty, because I'm resentful and- I just really like attention. Plus you guys love me anyway and would gladly write me a review, right? ;_;**


	24. Chapter 24

**So. Just so. Just read it. Remember that it's Bakura who's telling this to Malik. Three more chapters.**

**

* * *

**

Mariku hated going back to school. He didn't hate it for reasons that an Elementary schooler would; not being able to go outside and play, having to be cooped up in a room all day- no. Mariku didn't hate it for those reasons, he was much to old. Mariku had better reasons to wish death all those around him, an he didn't try to hide it.

He didn't have a bad life, really. Hell, his parents were rich. But none of that meant anything. Money did not create happiness, and it also didn't determine how the rest of the world treated you, not really… Mariku wore nice clothes, he had nice things, he took pride in his appearance, but it couldn't kill off his hatred. His hatred that started as a result of something he had no control in helping. You don't choose who you're born to.

Childhood is carefree, a blindfold over your eyes. Everything is fine, fun, and your only worry is if you'll be able to wake up early enough to watch cartoons on Saturday. But it leaves quickly, and that blindfold is wretched away cruelly. Without it, there's no hiding from the world. There is no game of hide and seek from reality. Reality is the bully on the play ground of life, ready to shove you down the moment it sees you, and laugh when you try to dust off your scratches. Reality doesn't play favorites, it isn't prejudice, and it shoved Mariku down _hard._

As a child, he didn't care about anything. Nothing could bring him down. He got what he wanted, no questions asked. If he wanted the new toy that had been advertised on the back of his cereal box, he got it. If he wanted the new collector's addition of his favorite action figure (that he would probably break in the hour after he got it, anyway), then he would pull on the hem of his baby sitter's shirt to take him to the store to get him it. Life was fine, always fine, even if his parents were never home and school wasn't a safe haven.

Mariku was a normal kid, not very extreme; happy, imaginative, if not for being extremely spoiled. He smiled, did his homework, participated in class, glued bits of pasta to paper. There was nothing that really distinguished him from any other child in his class. Except for his skin. And it was well known. Mariku accepted the bullying at first, since it just _was_, and wouldn't change, and had always been there. But he had at least expected it to go away, deep inside of him when he thought of who he would become. Time healed things, right?

But as his life went on and he outgrew Saturday morning cartoons and that new toy on TV, Mariku started to hate, because it never stopped.

He didn't have many friends. He had been social before, had talked to people, but it was only because of childlike naivety. Mariku grew up in a bigoted town, small and local, and often cursed his parents for choosing that one particular town to raise their son. Well, if they were ever around to curse, anyway. But, well, they _were_ never there, ever. It wasn't even a matter of exaggeration. They were just not a part of his life. Sometimes, they would come home from whatever business trip or party their friends were having to try and pretend as if they took an interest in their only son, but it was rare. When they would take him out to dinner for his birthday, and would look so solemn, Mariku wondered if they were ever really ready to have a child. They were much more suited to the life of fancy.

And so, he had no one. There was no one for him to confide in, no one for him to share joy with, sadness, hatred, confusion. Nothing, not one thing, not anybody. And so, Mariku distanced himself from the world, and from his classmates, but only so much that he could be seen, but not heard. He could still be tormented and bullied over his heritage and how he had become so distant, but he would not say a single word to anybody else. He was a figurative eyeball: he could be seen, could see, but could not speak.

It was better this way if he was forgotten.

--

Mariku hated this day. It was the least looked forward to day of his life, and the one that he met with a scowl and a grimace. Far from a smile. He mourned when he woke up and his alarm clock went off for the first time in three months. School. The first day of school. What year would this be--? …Oh yeah. His senior year. Mariku sighed and rubbed his eyes and turned onto his side, smashing his hand down onto the object of his hatred, making it suddenly go quiet.

There was a moment of pause before he started go get up and get ready. Mariku wondered what would happen if that moment of pause lasted forever and he just didn't go to school. Despite his intense hatred, he never did skip, and he himself wondered why. Maybe it was a hope for some miracle that something exciting would happen and everything would change. …Mariku scoffed out loud. Yeah right. He was too old for dreams. Forcing himself to move, he sighed once again and rolled over and stood up.

It was a chore, always a chore, getting ready. One he didn't mind so much, but still, a chore when he'd rather lay in bed. But it had to be done. He had to brush his teeth. Check. He had to take a shower. Check. He had to put on new clothes. Check. And he did so all with a blank expression.

The kitchen was warm. It was still summer, and the sun was bright through the curtains of the kitchen window as he squinted his eyes and tried to see through to the cupboard, accidentally knocking over a can of green beans, which broke when it fell onto the floor, and put him in an even worse mood then before. He contemplated cleaning it up. He _actually_ thought about cleaning it himself instead of having a maid do it. But one look at the time made him, again, in even a worse mood before, and did a half run to the door where he found his book bag and shoes, slipping them on quickly and clumsily as he left the mess behind for someone else to clean up.

Bright sun bombarded him again as he swung the front door closed behind him, holding up a hand to his forehead so he could see better. School was close and he had no reason to ride the bus. …Not that he had a choice. It didn't come around his way. Saving money for the schools, they called it. Saving money so the teachers could have gold plated nameplates on their desks, he called it.

Walking down his drive way and meeting the road that took him to school, Mariku crammed the last bit of his granola bar into his mouth. He didn't want it to last longer, anyway. That flavor was disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Negative. Always, always negative. Mariku looked at his feet while he walked.

It didn't take long, walking to school. Fifteen minutes, maybe, give or take. It was literally right down the road, and he often wondered who the idiot building scouter it was who made the layout of the area and decided it would be a fun idea to have the rich, megalomaniac houses right next to the school district. …All the better for fun raisers, he supposed.

But this part of the walk was the one that he hated the most, the one where everyone else who had walked to school started to find their friends and the people who they pretended were their friends only so that they could use them for whatever reasons they had. Popularity, connections, money- Mariku neither knew or cared. But the squealing got to him, the loud, high pitched, idiotic squealing from the girls as they met up and hugged and cried, as if they hadn't seen each other all summer, anyway. Mariku knew it was a show. It was a show to attract as much attention to themselves as possible, so people would notice them caring about their friends, which would make them appear more feminine, and more appealing to whatever boy they chose for their fancy at that time and said that they 'loved'. Everything was a game, though. They were just playing their character's secret move.

As more and more people met on the sidewalks, Mariku became more and more introverted. When people started to mingle in and bump shoulders with him, he began to grind his teeth together and form a fist with his hand. He hated this, he hated this. He hated the high concentration of people, the noise, everything. Negative, negative. Keeping his eyes on the ground did nothing to hide himself, either. Everyone knew who he was. And those who didn't would know so in a couple of days.

'Who's that one kid who keeps his head down all the time?' 'Oh he doesn't matter, seriously, he's a real freak. I mean, really. You don't even know. He doesn't have _any_ friends. But look at him! I don't know what he thinks coming into _our_ school will do! We don't want any niggers here. He's not even a real nigger, anyway.' Mariku knew the deal. He wondered if he even cared anymore, or if years of exposure to it had just made him hate the world. …

"What the fuck, man!?"

A fight, already? Not that he doubted it, but- well, Mariku doubted it. Everyone had their staked out positions in school, the only fights happened through text and the internet in an insidious plot to cause as much social damage as possible. Whoever thought that physical was better, was either a hero, or an idiot. And if they were a superhero, it was probably both, as Mariku knew from pop culture. No one gave a shit if Spiderman was some preppy college boy; he was still a fucking idiot. Take over the town for himself, not save it. Martyrs and heroes never won in the end.

"You act as if you've never taken a fucking punch before!"

He could try to ignore it, but, well, no. Mariku couldn't ignore the fact that he was _mildly_ interested in the fight. Just mildly. That was all. And he was only _mildly_ interested when he rounded the concrete corner of the wall and saw Scott Jackson getting punched straight in the nose and falling down with a bloody face. Scott _fucking_ Jackson!? Idiot. Idiot. The person who started the fight had to be an idiot. Did they even know who Scott Jackson _was_? But Mariku took one look at the other person and knew they didn't. How could they when they had obviously never been here before?

Some sort of transfer student that Mariku had never seen before. He had to take a second look at them to believe the way they dressed and the color hair they had. Idiot, idiot. He knew they were a fucking idiot. No one with half a brain would die their hair white and do it like they did. It was all about conformity, here. But he doubted they cared. Their fists were raised in an offensive position, and their was blood running a bit from their nose. At least Scott got in _one_ good punch, but he was a pussy anyway, so it wasn't like it mattered. But there was something in the way they grinned and narrowed their eyes that Mariku felt that somehow, this was where they belonged. Fighting, causing trouble, that rush of adrenaline that killed off every ounce of sense in your body, wanting only to continue the source of the rush. They weren't an idiot- they were _insane._

"What, you gonna get back up? Because I'm going to beat the fucking shit out of you either way. Stay down and you meet my foot." There was a crazy gleam in their eyes as they circled around and taunted the person they had just punched flat to the ground.

Scott made an angry exhale as he spit blood out of the corner of his mouth, shaking a little as he stood up. Raising his fists and opening his mouth to give some sort of stupid come back that he probably thought would be menacing, he didn't have another chance as he was punched again, this time missing a little and only hitting him in the side of the head. It made him stumble back, though, and it was from God's amazing and good grace that he just _happened_ to fall back onto Mariku.

Even if he was beaten to hell and back, Scott turned around and took aim at him, too, which Mariku had saw coming and dodged, anyway. He was at a lower social level then him, _much_ lower, so he was free game. He wouldn't fight back.

"Watch where you're fucking going! I see a fucking enough of you! Fight me since you think you're so cool dressing like a little rich boy!"

And Mariku clenched his fist. He had been waiting for this. It was an invitation. He couldn't get blamed. But before he could actually be enough of an idiot and hit him back, the other boy grabbed him again and turned him away from his attention.

"Oh no you don't! If you're not enough of a pussy to fight, then you can fight me, not him!"

Yeah. That was fate. That was what he had been dealing with his entire life. Give him one chance, and then take it away. But a crowd had formed around them, and it wasn't like Mariku wanted to fight if people would be watching him, anyway. …But he would have punched him. He would have so punched him. But he couldn't, now. He'd leave that to the idiot who thought it was cool to talk like an English person.

--

Mariku stared at the wall next to him as his new home room teacher lectured about god knew what, and contemplated the meaning of life and what love really was and the time space complex and if the first day of school was really the worst. No, he changed his mind. The _second_ day of school was the worse. The first day of school, you don't work. The first day of school is only to look good and set an example for how you'll be the rest of the year. The first day of school is all signing papers and getting threatened to detention if you don't turn in your medical forms on time.

There was a poking on his arm that rested on the table, and Mariku blinked once, coming out of his incredibly deep contemplation and looked over at the girl sitting next to him as she passed him his new school agenda. She didn't look very happy or too impressed, from sitting next to him or being back at school or both. But, oh, lucky her! She had a cell phone and could text all of her stupid friends in the middle of class! Damn. She even held it under the table, as if she thought the teacher couldn't tell. Mariku snorted and took it _politely_ from her.

Actually, nobody really looked that impressed about their senior year. It was overkill. They'd gone through this enough times to know the deal. The only people who really seemed that excited were the jocks and preppy school kids, who would high five each other and chest bump in the halls. Mariku wondered if they did it too look stupid because being stupid was being cool, or if they really did just like rubbing their chests together. He couldn't tell if it was amusing or just stupid.

Ms. Harrison, his home room teacher, was an older lady, definitely over the hill. As she walked around the class handing out their schedules with a piece of candy taped to each paper, Mariku couldn't tell if she thought they were all just stupid or five. She was a bit out of touch. Maybe a little bit more out of touch with the student population. She still thought that they needed color and familiarity in the class room like elementary students did, and decided it would be fun to decorate her room with little spongebob figurines and plush toys. But she was nice, and he could tolerate her, and didn't glare as she handed him his schedule.

Looking at it, he didn't have much. He had gotten in most of his credits in the years before. Just a couple of small curricular classes and a science class this semester. If he wanted to, he could just not show up for the first part of the day. Get a job, earn a living- Mariku almost laughed. Yeah, right. And he'd get married, too, and have the perfect life with a yard and a dog and even a little plastic flamingo to put in front of his hedges lined by a white fence.

Boredly glancing up when the intercom turned on a staticy 'hello' to the class, he crumpled up his schedule and crammed it into his pocket.

"Would all Seniors please report to the Auditorium. Teachers, let the classes go in alphabetical order."

The level of the noise in the room shot dramatically up when the click of the intercom signaled that it was turned off and it was time to go. He didn't even know why they cared, or why they were so excited. It was the same as every year. The only reason they were going to the Auditorium was so they could be lectured on what to do and not do and how short your skirt could be. Mariku moved quickly to the back of the class where he stayed silently watching until Ms. Harrison led them out of the room like some sort of herded cows. …Sadly, that sounded a bit right.

Scowling when he was bumped into again that morning when the halls filled with his classmates, Mariku was all too happy to take a seat in the back of the Auditorium and hide from everyone else who sat up front, all too eager to get told the same thing that was drilled into their heads ever year. A couple of boys sat down next to him, the other kids that no one seemed to like. Like recycled papers that had found their way into the gutter, or a worn out toy from the salvation army. Mariku wondered, as he glanced down their way and saw what they looked like, how he had ever managed to sink so low.

There was noise from a microphone up on the stage, and Mariku turned his attention to their principal, who had just walked onstage. He tapped the microphone, began to speak, and once he bellowed the 'Hellooooo students!', Mariku turned off his caring. Leaning his head into his hand, he stared boredly around the auditorium. He looked at everyone who he had known from Kindergarten, first grade, middle school, and- he hated them all. Every. Single. One of them. He hated them all so much. He hated the way they dressed. He hated the way they talked. He hated the way that they treated him. He hated it all. They were all useless, worthless, the scum of the barrel. They were the remaining rocks and sand of a miner's gold shifter, little drips that trickled down the walls and formed together to create a murky puddle at the bottom, already ridden of their prized minerals. They were-

"Hey."

Mariku almost bit the boy who reached over to tap him on the should when he resounded with an angry, low "What!?".

The boy looked a bit worried, and retreated his hand a little, and Mariku scowled at his pimply face and unkempt hair and clothes.

"They- they want you." Oh god, he even stuttered, too. No wonder nobody liked him."_They?_" Mariku kept his glare, unamused at whatever prank or trick someone was trying to play on him.

"Y-yeah. Back there. They want you. They told me to get you." He gestured backwards with his thumb to the only row of seats that were further back then their's were. Looking back, Mariku paused when he saw the face of the boy who had actually knocked Scott Jackson into place. And he had already gotten himself a posse. The boy grinned at him the same way he had grinned when he had punched one of the most popular kids at school square in the jaw. Looking back at the boy who had been playing messenger, the boy sort of gave him a 'good luck' look, and Mariku glared at the ground before slowly getting up and sneaking back to them. He was probably fucking dead.

Looking to see if any teachers had caught him, The Idiot pointed to the chair that was in the row right in front of him. Glancing around a bit worriedly, he did what was ordered of him. The boys who had already surrounded The Idiot and who Mariku was not surprised to find to be some of the biggest pot heads in school turned away when The Idiot looked at them, and pulled out the candy that Ms. Harrison had given them and crushed it and tried to snort it. Or something. He didn't care.

Leaning forward, The Idiot kept his grin, and grabbed his shirt collar, jerking him forward and Mariku flinched, expecting to be put in the same place Scott had been.

"Hey."

…Hey? _Hey!?_ Mariku stared dumbly back at him. After a little time passing buy and saying nothing, The Idiot glared.

"I told you fucking 'Hey.' Answer me."

"Uh-" Oh god, he was such an idiot, "-hi-.?" It was a statement, but yet, a question, and Mariku was instantly released from the death grip that had been held onto him. But still, The Idiot remained leaned forward.

"Who are you? Are you like, the school's bitch, or something?"

He didn't really know how to react to this. This kid really was new. "'The fuck? If you're going to come here, you're not going to ask who's people's names are like I have a fucking name tag. You're going to learn on your own." And he was dead. He was so dead. Oh Mariku often praised what a wonderful mouth he had.

But instead of becoming mad or pissed or whatever else Mariku had been expecting, The Idiot laughed. "Nice, nice. Mariku, right?"

"…I thought you said you didn't know my name?" Mariku looked at him oddly. This kid really wasn't from around here.

"I'm not stupid. I know your name. It's just that formal introductions are so much better when you get to see the other person look all awkward. And for being the school's bitch, you sure do have a mouth. You should be trained to treat your superiors better, by now. I'm Ryou Bakura."

He did not know what was going on. He did _seriously _not know what was going on. First this kid whails on _Scott fucking Jackson_, and then he calls him over in the middle of a Senior class lecture to- tell- him- his- name?

"Uh, Ryou, right. …Where the hell are you from?"

His face instantly dropped. "But you call me by my first name and you're dead. And I'm from the great country of England, don't you know? Or else I'd sound like a hick like the rest of you all do. …Anyway. I want you to stay with us."

"…Us?" This was too much information to handle at once.

Bakura motioned back to the boys who were still trying to snort little pieces of candy crystals. "Us. We're the top bunch, it seems. And why wouldn't I be interested in the only kid here who doesn't act like the rest of _them_? This could be good for you, you know."

"…How…?" He looked at him skeptically, but still, Mariku leaned a tiny bit forward.

"Because I know you hate. I know you hate everyone here and every thing. You're easy to read. And I know you, I know people like you. You're easy to figure out. You want a way out, even if you have to stay here. You want things to change. You want them to pay for what they've done to you. …I can do that, I can help you. I'll teach you how to look them square in the eye while you bring them down."

"…And what you get in return-?"

"Well," Bakura said, smirking and leaning back into his chair as he crossed his arms, "I guess you wouldn't the be the school's bitch anymore. You'd be mine."

And Mariku didn't know why he found himself agreeing.

--

Somehow, things were going right, for possibly the first time in his life, and for all of the wrong reasons. He wasn't getting better grades or excelling in extra curricular activities or became some sort of person that would help little old ladies across the street- no. What he had now was different. What he had now was revenge, even if it hadn't happened yet. What he had now was Bakura.

Bakura was different. He was like nothing he had ever seen before. And maybe literally, in that aspect. Nothing rivaled him, and nothing challenged him. The world was a game. A game that he played on offense and often used cheat codes against. He was immoral. He lied, he stole, he skipped school, but everything went right for him. His life was perfect, Mariku thought. And Mariku's life would be perfect, soon, too, so long as he followed in the every footsteps of what he did.

Bakura lived in the city. The school district was surrounded by a lot of farm land, but the city was close by, even if it seemed like they were two different worlds. The life of crime seemed to fascinate Bakura, and he lived it. He acted like he was some sort of tough ass. Even if he probably really was. He was physically cold, and his words were, too, though Mariku found it slightly amusing when he strung out a string of curses with his somewhat heavy accent. And he influenced him in every way.

His parents hated Bakura, even if they were hardly around. But when they were, they would always act so shocked with what new their son had done. He started growing out his hair, no longer short and proper. He changed his clothes, no longer clean cut and obviously expensive. Having grown up with manners and proper etiquette (at home, at least), they were appalled to hear him cursing at home. And the reason for it? That new transfer kid from England.

There were things to do, now. Even when it was eleven o clock at night on a school night, Bakura would show up by throwing rocks at his window, like a scene out of some sort of sappy romance movie, except when he opened his window, it wasn't 'Oh my love! Let us escape from this world together!', it was 'God dammit, how many fucking rocks do I have to throw!? Get your ass down here, we're going out.' And 'out' usually meant taking Mariku's car for Bakura to use to impress the group of kids he had met in the city. They acted like they were in a gang, and maybe it was, but Mariku wasn't sure if they had killed anybody yet.

Bakura's friends were all pretty much the same. He knew kids like them. They were the ones who did nothing during the day and then did drugs at night. They were all empty. But they were tools. They were tools for adrenaline when Bakura decided that it would be fun to go spray paint something. …Or something. Because although Bakura was now the center of his universe, he really did have no idea what he did. He was a secret, some level of the game that couldn't be unlocked. And Mariku wondered if he really wanted to.

There was something about him, something that was very- …off. Mariku didn't know how to explain it. He would be yelling at him one minute, and then silent the next, as if he seemed slightly guilty. Mariku had seen Bakura get mad plenty of times at people, more then he could count, and more fights then he could remember. Bakura's place was truly in the rink. But he had never gotten mad at him. Mariku always obeyed.

Their relationship was strange. It was friendship, but it was obvious who was on top. He had signed the contract, after all. Bakura was dominant over everyone, but it was different between the two of them. They could be equals, appear as equals, but one word from Bakura's mouth and Mariku found himself almost quite literally at his feet. And for some reason, Mariku didn't mind.

Even if he was ostracized at school, he was still generally in control. People worshipped him for his money, even if he was almost entirely hated. In middle school, he was dealt physical abuse, shoves and kicks and all of that, but in high school, it was all physiological. Or so they hoped. It wasn't as if Mariku cared, but- it was as if they hoped that if they didn't say anything at all, he would rub off his good fortune onto them. They stayed out of his way, even though they still managed to make his life a living hell.

And so, it was a change. Mariku was no longer in control. Bakura did not bow to him, to his money. Bakura could care less. With Bakura, he had control forcefully ripped from him. And he liked it. He liked the feeling of being stripped from power, helpless, even if it didn't reach far. And Bakura always enjoyed power.

As the year wore on and Mariku no longer squinted his eyes in the morning from the bright sunlight in the kitchen, but had to turn on all of the lights to see, it started to get different. His life had been a bit chaotic before, but now it was worse. Something was wrong with Bakura that he could not tell, that he did not know, and was scared of knowing. He scowled more, now, when he looked at him, a different scowl then he usually wore. One that was actually a _scowl_ and something different from his usual expression.

He had an unusual need to have to always do something with him, always see him and always be with him, even if it was just after school and they just went to Mariku's room and they stared at each other. Bakura never let Mariku into his house. He started to become a bit distant in the way he talked and acted, the curse words growing in number, but always with a distinct, bitter tone. And he stopped showing up at school for a while, and would come back periodically. Mariku, who had always kept good grades even though he started associating himself with delinquents, started to not care anymore. It was a game, before, with Bakura, but now it was growing real, and he didn't know what to do. Who was Bakura, who was he without his 'friends'?

And then he asked him to come over. To Bakura's house. And so Mariku did, and followed the address into the city. Somehow, he knew he shouldn't have been shocked, but he was surprised to see the state of which Bakura lived; a tiny, cold apartment.

"Where have you been."

"Why the fuck do you care." Bakura did not look good. Bakura locked the door behind him.

"Because you're my friend."

"Don't be a fucking sap!" Bakura yelled at him, clenching his fist and teeth as he swiveled around. Almost instantly, though, he held his face up to his hand and turned back around.

"-…Bakura."

"What do you want."

"…What do _I_ want? What the hell, man? You're the one who asked me to come here! And this is what you do to me?"

"…Leave me alone."

"You don't want that. I don't know what you're doing. I don't know what the hell you're doing, or what kind of game you're playing, or-"

"I'm in love with you."

"…What?"

…What? What? Mariku stood still, sopping wet from the rain that he had to run through to get to the apartment building, still soaking, and dripping onto Bakura's tiled floors. He didn't- he didn't know what to do. It was Bakura. It was fucking Bakura, the one who dealt drugs and punched _Scott fucking Jackson,_ the one who robbed and lied and- he- was gay? This was so screwed up.

Mariku backed up a little. "N-no way. No fucking way."

Bakura turned to him, the coldest expression he had ever seen on his face. "Do you remember what I told you the first day of school?"

"N-no." Mariku fucking stuttered. He fucking stuttered and Bakura walked towards him.

"You told me~" Bakura talked with a slight tune to his speech. At the same time, he grinned, glared, and was breaking inside and it showed through easily. "you told me that you were my fucking bitch if I made you this way. Well look at you, Mariku. Are you different? I think you are. Now, where's my share?"

"I-"

"Fuck me."

"-No."

"Fuck me, or I leave you, and you lose everything you have and you go back to being the dirt under everyone's shoe."

"N-…"

And so he did. Somehow, Mariku agreed. Somehow, Mariku let go of every bit of dignity and pride he had and agreed to every command that Bakura gave him. And he liked it. He fucking liked it. And Bakura wrapped his arms around his neck and told him that he loved him. And Mariku looked down at his flushed face and fucking believed him.

And that's when he stopped taking his pills. That's when he no longer cared. That's when he locked himself in his room with only Bakura there, sitting on his bed and leaning back, talking about something. Something. Something that Mariku didn't know and Mariku didn't care about. Something as Mariku sat and thought about how much he hated the world and wished for everyone to die. For everything to be right. For someone to love him.

"Let's go out," Bakura said. And they did. They took Mariku's car. Bakura drove. Mariku didn't care. Mariku's mind didn't care. Mariku wasn't thinking about Bakura. He was thinking about everything he hated hated so much hated hated what he hated. And Bakura took him to the mall and Andrew McLowry was there. Andrew McLowry. Fucking Andrew McLowry. He hated him. He hated hate hate hate hate hated him. He hated him so much. He hated him. He wished he was dead.

"What are you doing?" Bakura said. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Somebody call the police!" A woman said.

"Stop! Stop, help me!" Andrew McLowry said.

"I wish you were all fucking dead." Mariku said.

Mariku didn't know. Mariku couldn't remember.

He remembered being home, though, when the police arrested him for assault. Two knife wounds to the stomach. He didn't die, but Mariku was charged and it wasn't the same. He was under constant watch. Nobody knew the reason. Because he was still taking his medication. They thought. They were all idiots. But Bakura knew. He wasn't an idiot, and Bakura loved him. Bakura told him he loved him.

"I love you. I won't ever leave you. Fucking nothing will make me leave you."

"I love you too, you won't understand how much I do. I'll stay with you."

And Bakura didn't lie. He never lied. To him, anyway. Bakura stayed with him, he didn't care like the rest of the world that he didn't take his fucking medicine. He didn't need it, anyway. It made him fake. It wasn't who he was. Everyone else was allowed to be what they wanted, and so could he. It was his choice, his life. The doctors and his parents couldn't tell him what to do. He was almost eighteen. He would be an adult. He could make his own decisions. He couldn't be told what to do.

Nobody _ever_ said 'no' to him. He got what he wanted.

In a way, he did. The kids at school no longer made fun of him. They feared him. They had begun to before when they realized that he wasn't the quiet pushover that they had always thought he was. But they heard of what he did. And they feared him. They were getting it all back. And Mariku fucking loved it.

As Bakura's grades rose, his dropped. As Bakura's looks became worried, Mariku's became strong. Mariku hated that. Mariku hated the way that Bakura looked at him, judging him, judging him!

"Is there something wrong with me!? This is what you promised me that I'd be! This is what you want me to be!"

"No, I-"

"'No you' what!? Fucking tell me!"

But Bakura didn't. Bakura never would. Because Bakura told him he loved him. And Bakura wouldn't hurt him. So Bakura left. For a long while he was gone, and Mariku didn't know what he was doing, either. For a long time, Mariku fell into depression. A deep, deep depression, and he had no way out. He hated. He hated every thing and every body. He didn't have anybody. He could have all the money in the world, but he couldn't have what he really wanted. And Mariku didn't know what he wanted. It was so tangible, so palpable that he could almost reach out and touch it. But the metaphor to Mariku's life stuck true, and once he felt the tiny sliver of touch, it was wretched away from him.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't know what he had, or really, what he lost, but he knew that it was fundamentally _wrong_ and he had to do something about it. He had to have Bakura back. He had to have his attention, everything about him. He wanted him back, and he would do whatever it would take to get him .

His wish was granted as a double edged sword when Roger Mellancamp decided it would be fun to mock him. Like some idiot who longed for better days when Mariku could be pushed around as always. But it wasn't the same anymore. Mariku wasn't the same. Mariku had changed, and _Roger fucking Mellancamp _would regret every time he had ever bullied him. Every _fucking_ time that shoved him down and made fun of him and stole the money that his parents had given him. Every. Fucking Time.

There had been a reason to attack him. He knew there had been. He knew it, he just- he couldn't remember it. All he remembered were his hands around his neck and his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he struggled for breath and the police handcuffing him and Bakura. And Bakura. Always, always Bakura. Bakura had come back, Bakura hadn't left him. It was good, it was fine. His sentence didn't matter so long as he had Bakura. Life would be perfect again.

And it was perfect. Bakura was there. Bakura didn't dare to leave him again. Bakura was kind and wary but the command in his voice had left and Mariku missed it, and so Mariku told him to bring it back. And Bakura did. For a while, life was calm and not turbulent. The gang that Bakura had been in seemed to die down a bit, but Mariku really knew nothing about what Bakura did when he left him. It was perfect, but it was tainted. Bakura would leave at night. Bakura would go home. Bakura would love him, but he was not completely committed. There was something that he didn't have that Mariku wanted: and it was that Mariku had him. Mariku wanted what he could never, ever have. The one thing that could elude him and his money and his status.

He found it in a girl.

* * *

**HOLY SHIT SURPRISE TWIST HE'S NOT GAY. Even JJ Abrams can't make his shit up. I bet you all were not expecting that since yowee fanfiction is against the boobies. But I don't really see Mariku as gay, sorry. Plus I don't like having all of the main characters be gay. ...Even though Malik is asexual and scared of anything that could possibly rape him. Anyway yeah. The reason Mariku hates Andrew McLowry so much is because he gave him a canadian nickel instead of a good ol' American Jefferson. And you know how crazy Mariku is over his change. That little bitch had it coming. Also, I wrote this in for hours. Huh. Whatever, there's your update. TWENTY REVIEWS PLOX. YOU DID SUCH A GOOD JOB LAST TIME, LET'S KEEP IT UP, EH?**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hi. My name is FFFFFFFFFFF. Read. Two chapters left.**

* * *

He didn't remember the first time he'd seen her. Hell, he couldn't even remember _how_ he'd seen her, but Mariku didn't care. It was some time after Bakura had started loving him again, that he knew at the least. Irony, how that worked. A paradox of a paradox…

But it was winter, he remembered that as well. It was winter, and the days were short, but even longer during school. It was hot from wearing long sleeved shirts and thick coats in the middle of class, uncomfortable as the winter air made him sniff a little more then usual. It was to be expected, though, just another part of the cold. But the girls in his class never wore long sleeves. It was some sort of social code, a rule, or a simple standard that always said to show as much skin as possible. And maybe that was how he noticed her. Her skin, uncovered. So much of it he could see…

Papers were passed out, things were written on the bored, and lectures were given out as a seminar. He didn't pay attention, though. Mariku never paid attention anymore. It was hot, he was bored, he was distracted, and there was something in the back of his mind that always pushed pushed pushed for him to do something, anything, so long as it hurt someone. Revenge, after all. But it was suppressed, because Bakura had told him not to do anything like _that_ anymore. And so instead of focusing on his teacher, he looked around at his peers.

He hated them, all of them… Every single one of them were the same. Even the way their voice sounded melted and dripped down to form just one single tone. They were sheep, blinded by their own wool and gullible enough to trust the coyote. Hatred, that feeling… Perhaps it blinded him, as well. But at least he could diverge from the herd and see for himself what had become of them.

And so he sat and watched, looked, and picked apart at everyone around him as they all looked straight ahead. Figuring that he might as well try, he moved to pick up his pencil. The girl who sat next to him bumped his arm when she took her cell phone out of her hoodie pocket. It made him freeze a bit. He didn't want to be touched by people like them. And across the room, another girl took out her cell phone, receiving the message. Maybe that was the first time, maybe then. He couldn't remember, really. It had never really mattered.

She had entranced him at first. Just something pretty to look at and something interesting to watch. Like an ant in an ant farm. She looked exactly like her peers, all homogenous, but still, he could track her, watch her, separate her from the rest. He didn't know why he had become so drawn to her. She was a stupid girl, no mental challenge to him. But there was something in the way she laughed, the way she moved, the way she could act as if there was nothing polluting the world- he was captivated. Transfixed. And he couldn't get her out of his head.

For a while, he had gone days with just watching. Just….watching. Just watching. He watched her talk. He watched her flirt. He watched her chew on the end of her pencil. He watched her socialize with everyone else but himself. And he didn't understand why he didn't do more. Perhaps it was because he was separated mentally, not only just because they feared him and ostracized him, but she didn't belong with him. And that only drew him in more.

The first time he had tried to talk to her was like he was back in middle school again. Stupid, like a little boy, confused. He didn't remember much of what he said, but he did remember that her expression was one of rejection. He had known it from the beginning that that was how she would have reacted, but somehow… it made him irrationally angry. He didn't even remember what she had said back, but he did remember how he had clenched his fists and gritted his teeth later. He hated her. But he loved her. He could never have her.

Bakura had come over every day to watch him. Mariku felt somewhat like a child, but still, he relished in his attention. Things had become a routine, and he was just part of it. Something was different about Bakura since Malik had stopped taking his medicine. Or maybe it wasn't _Bakura_ who was different, but his view of him… Everything was different to Mariku. The way he perceived things, viewed them… it made him irrational. He didn't really care, though.

Even with Bakura over, sitting on his bed and watching TV, Mariku did not think of him. Because Bakura was right there, he could reach out and touch him. He was there, so he did not need to be thought of. Bakura was there, Bakura loved him. He was no challenge.

'I think I love her.'

He remembered saying that. And he remembered Bakura suddenly going silent from telling him what he wanted to do that day. But Mariku didn't understand why. It wasn't as if Bakura appreciated him, even if he told him he loved him. After all, Bakura would leave him at night. He would leave him during the day. He would leave him at school. And he would leave him when they graduated. What did he care?

But Bakura pretended he did. He pretended that he cared, and he pretended to get upset. He pretended to get mad, and he got into character. Bakura never got angry at Mariku, he never yelled at him, even if his words were often cruel. But that changed. The remote dropped slowly from his hands, and his expression turned for the worse. His words were no longer sharp because of character, but because of direct anger.

'Do you think this is funny!? Do you think this is a game!?' There were few times that Mariku had seen Bakura angry, and this was one of the few. Mariku wondered if Bakura really wanted to hurt him as he slammed him down into the floor and put his hands around his neck. 'Do you think I'm lying to you, that I don't mean it, that I don't love you!? How can you tell me that!? How can you tell me you love some stupid girl you don't even know over me? I've been with you, I've stayed with you through all of your shit! I changed you, I gave you what you wanted! Mariku, I love you, I fucking love you! Why the hell are you saying this!?'

And he paused for a while. …Why? He wasn't exactly sure. He loved her, and yet, he didn't. She was what he hated, the very epitome of his hatred, of the people who had surrounded him his entire life, and yet, he loved her. He wanted her for his own. He wanted her to be with him constantly and never leave. He wanted her not for who she was, but for what she represented.

'Why? Because you gave me what I never asked for.'

Mariku had also never seen him cry before.

-

The days without Bakura were slow. Mariku felt lost, like he was a little kid once again, but this time toting heavy artillery within himself. He didn't really know what he was doing, or what he had done, or what he was going to do. He knew Bakura was jealous, but still, he wasn't sure. Perhaps he was just trying to play hard to get. Maybe he wanted his attention and so he separated himself. But it hurt. Badly.

Without Bakura, he didn't have anyone. He had no one to talk to, or to be with, or for them to love him. It made him scared. He had had Bakura for as long as he had become better. Who was he without Bakura? His mind told him many things, force fed him answers and possibilities that he did not want to hear. But his mind always did that. It was coming the norm. He was so alone.

And then he remembered why he was. The girl… He remembered her. He always had. He watched her and watched her, so flitty and separated from himself. Even _she_ was gone, and _she_ was the one who had caused his pain. It was her, fault, her fault! It was her damn fault that Bakura was gone and his insides felt like they had been melted! She was a fucking bitch, just like the rest of them. He hated her, he hated her so much. He needed her, he needed her so much. But even though he could watch her all day and she was there, she left him, too. Everybody always left him.

And so, he decided to follow her.

It was such a simple solution, one that cured all of his problems, and he wasn't sure why he had not thought of it before. It was so easy, and he could get everything he wanted without any sort of repercussions. The idea came to him spontaneously, and he wavered briefly. Would he be missed at home? The answer was both relieving and hurtful. So when the bell rang at the end of school, he closed his locker and watched her as she left the building with her group of friends, following her silently.

Since his town was small, there were limited places that she could live. She could live in the country, or the suburbs, but that was all. He hoped that she did not live far out, and that she did not drive. But luck graced him that day as she waved goodbye to their classmates and began walking the way back to one of the closer neighborhoods.

There was something thrilling about it, following someone without them knowing. It sent him a rush of adrenaline, something he hadn't felt in a while, and missed greatly. She looked pretty that day, too. Just a pretty, empty shell. But it was okay, because he loved her. And he followed her all the way back to her house, making sure to stay far enough away that she wouldn't sense him, and close enough that he could watch every move that she made.

Eventually, though, the trip did come to an end as she walked up the front steps to her house and turned the knob, leaving him, once again, in loneliness. Everyone always left him. Always. He was always alone. Always. He had nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody. There was nobody there for him. They always left, they would always leave, and he would be forever standing outside in the cold, unwanted, and unloved. But he would strive for that one sliver of companionship.

And so it became part of his routine. It was so programmed, natural, that sometimes he forgot he was doing it, or why he was doing it. All he knew was that after fourth block, that he had a reason for breathing again. Mariku couldn't survive on his own. He needed something, somebody. But- who was he if he had nobody? Because she was still not his.

Answering him, Mariku didn't know how to react when Bakura showed up at his front door one day. Should he have welcomed him with open arms, or closed the door in his face? Mariku didn't know, and so he simply stood there and looked at him. Bakura was always spontaneous. But did it mean that he forgave him? Bakura was also fickle. If he said he loved him, he should have stayed with him no matter what. But he left, and Mariku didn't know if he could trust him.

'What's happening to you?'

'There's nothing wrong with me.'

'You weren't like this in the beginning… I don't even know what I've done…'

'Then blame yourself, because I'm not doing anything to change myself.'

Cold words, cold tension, a cold war between them. But Bakura had changed. He had lost something, or maybe, he had gained realization. He had realized that Mariku would never be what he wanted, that he would to form to shape the mold that Bakura thought he could have laid out for him. But he was helpless to do anything, because Bakura would always, always love Mariku. It was sad.

Bakura was just like the rest of them. A sheep, blinded by it's own driving force, knowing the truth, and yet, not strong enough to stray from it.

It was different with Bakura back. He had left before, but this time, it was somehow different. It was like there was a new realization between them. Bakura knew that Mariku would never be what he wanted, but yet he stayed. And maybe Mariku loved him as well. Maybe that was why he allowed him to stay. But Mariku knew that Bakura would never leave him, and so he could do whatever he wanted. Still, his mind stayed on her.

Her, her, her! She taunted him. She taunted him with her round face and her blonde hair and her sheer _stupidity_. She was so _stupid_, she didn't know anything, she would never know anything. That's why she needed him. He could show her everything that she would never experience on her own. He needed her, he wanted her.

He needed her to know who he was.

It started small. Very, very small things to gain her attention. He would pass papers out in class, lingering just a little while longer at her desk. He would take roll call, he would ask her if she knew the answer to question number four. But it wasn't nearly enough, because she would still ignore him. He was only another boy, just Mariku, the one who had almost killed Roger Mellancamp. She didn't want anything to do with him. But she did like things. She was a girl, she was materialistic. She might not like him, but she would like his money.

Mariku had never gone shopping for a girl before, and he didn't really know what to buy. She didn't have much of a mind, so she would appreciate clothes, so he bought her those, guessing her size. She didn't read, so he bought her flowers. She didn't care about anything other then material possessions, and so that was what he bought for her. Any way to get her attention.

He had the gifts wrapped. Not by him, of course, but at the store so that they looked as neat and as well cared for as possible. He wanted it to be perfect, because that was what she liked. Perfection. Because she was just another one of the mindless masses of people, and that's what they liked. Perfection. Conformity. And he would deliver, if only just for her.

It was dark when he had left the presents on her doorstep. He had parked a couple of blocks away in case anyone had recognized his car. There were lights on in the house, and he had wavered, nervous that she might see him. But once he set the presents and flowers on her porch and rang the doorbell, he bolted. And while hiding behind a row of bushes that lined her neighbor's house, Mariku wondered if she would ever wonder if he had sent the gifts, or someone else had.

After that, it was hard to concentrate on anything other then what she did, what she thought, and if she was still thinking of the anonymous sender. But after a week had passed and the excitement had dwindled and she no longer speculated with her friends over who it could have been, Mariku was once again left craving more. On one hand, he liked the animosity of it, just as he liked the thrill of watching her. But on the other, he still wanted her to know that it was him. And so he was torn between the two, unsure of what to do when he sent her next present. Should he sign it as his own, or should he leave it up to her to try and figure out? Mariku was a coward, and left it without a note.

At the same time, Bakura had grown protective. He was jealous, even though he never talked about her anymore. But he still knew that he thought of her. So he did whatever he could to get his attention. He spent all of his free time with him, taking him places and holding desperately onto the relationship they had had before.

He had rejoined the gang he had found, as well. For a while Mariku thought that he had forgotten about loving him, since he focused solely on his peers, but it was not the case as he started to invite him along. He wanted to share things with him, he supposed. And it was funny how Mariku didn't feel like he fit in with the people Bakura called his friends. He had almost killed two people, but somehow he didn't see himself as part of them. Even though they shared his hatred against the world.

He wasn't exactly sure why Bakura brought him along. He didn't say much, mainly stayed in the corner and ditched out on whatever they planned on doing, but Bakura liked it, and kept him coming. And when everybody left Bakura's apartment, Bakura would remind him that he loved him. He would hold him down and kiss him and tell him over and over that he loved him.

'Why.'

'Why what?'

'Why do you love me.'

'…Because you're the only thing that I have.'

Ironic how it worked out in the end. But Bakura would show him everything he could in the short amount of time that he had. Mariku wasn't sure if it could have been called forceful, or not, because he knew he enjoyed it. But he felt nothing in it anymore. It had used to be something new and exciting, something he craved, and something he knew that Bakura would give him if he only just asked. But then it conjured up feelings of being apathetic, even though he would still moan for him. Mariku wasn't sure why everything lost its grandeur.

And when Bakura was satisfied and Mariku was tired, Bakura would roll him over and talk to him. It was some of the only times that Mariku had seen true kindness from him, as if he was a different person. His voice was calm and his topics were without what would make him curse. He would speak softly about little things that Mariku could not remember, close his eyes and let his hands touch the side of his face.

Mariku didn't understand Bakura's touch, how it could vary so greatly, but he would always stay quiet. Whether Bakura was rough or soft, whether he was frantic or calm. Mariku never said anything. It was somewhere where Mariku was lost in, and he never knew what to do when Bakura touched him. But he always, always told him that he loved him.

'I'll never leave you, ever. Even though you promised me the same.'

'…'

But things were not the same between Bakura and him, and it was hurting the both of them. Maybe it was Bakura who realized it first, or maybe it had been Mariku who had yelled it at him the night that his parents had died. But one of them, maybe both of them, realized it. It wasn't working, them. And they had to split, permanently. And so Bakura left his life, turned his back on him, and promised to never see him again.

Sometimes, Mariku wished that things could go back to how they once were, when everything was fine and he could love Bakura and his life had meaning. But that was not how the way the world works, and so his mind took a different route.

His instability had been growing. The little things that his brain told him to do that he didn't exactly agree with, but was hopeless against denying. They would tell him things, make him think things that he did not want, and cloud his vision. Bakura had caused it, he knew. He couldn't survive without Bakura, and he was a fool for not realizing it. He always wanted him when he was gone, but when he had him, he ignored him and took him for granted. But this time, there would be no more reunions. He was gone for good, and it was tearing Mariku apart. He was hurting, terribly.

The thoughts that plagued his mind and the stress and anger and hatred and pain and fucking _everything_ that came with it was building up, and Mariku knew that if his own hurting didn't stop, then he would hurt somebody else. But Mariku was a goddamned coward, and he did nothing to stop the way he was thinking. Because it was all in his hands.

He didn't know what to do. It scared him, the way he was beginning to think, and he would kneel with his head between his knees, trying to make sense of it all, but it never worked. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do… His hands would shake and his vision would go blurry from complete, unadulterated hatred. Hatred, hatred. He hated the world. He hated everything. He hated it all. Bakura had left him. Mariku felt like he was dying.

He felt like he _could_ die, that the emotions inside of him would someday very soon would become too great for him to handle, and they would seep up out of his mouth and would burn him all the way down. But there had to be a way out, any way out. Any way out that was not within his control. Because if it was in his control, then he would have to take responsibility for when he hurt someone else, and he knew he would.

It wasn't what he wanted, but he didn't want his medicine. He didn't want to be told what to think, how to act, what to do. He didn't want to conform, to be just another person, to be the same as everybody else. To be one of _them_ to be one of _her._

…_Her._

_She_ was still there. Every day in class. Every. Fucking. Day. She was there and she would smile and she didn't fucking know _anything _about him and what he was going through and how much he loved her but she fucking _smiled._ She was so damn stupid, just like all of them. With their light skin and their smooth voices and-

Mariku knew that he was going to snap. He could watch himself. He watched the thin strands of his sanity twined together finally start to tear apart. One. By. One.

But he was lost, scared, and he wanted his routine back. But what was his routine? Bakura, Bakura, Bakura was his routine! Bakura, Bakura! BAKUR- but no. She was part of his routine too, wasn't she? Yes… she was. He wanted her. He _needed_ her. And so he followed her everywhere. Always, all of his time was dedicated to her. He had found her cell phone number, too. And for the first time, he was able to talk to her. But… not as himself.

And he didn't understand _why. Why _would someone deny love when it was handed right too them? He did not deny Bakura, and she should not deny him. The hatred returned when he saw her in class, scared, and surrounded by her stupid, stupid friends. Scared. She was scared. He had told her that he had watched her for a long time, had been following her, and that he loved her. For what reason should she be scared of the truth!? He hated her, he hated her so much. He gave her everything that he was, and she shoved him away.

She shoved him away as if they were still young. She shoved him away, and he fell backwards, and began to cry at the world, and at himself. Because that was it. That was it. He couldn't take it anymore, the rejection, the rejection, the hatred, always hating, the fear. Mariku snapped.

After school, he followed her like always, and waited outside her house with a bottle of chloroform in his pocket. He had to have her, he needed her more then anything, and if she denied him, he would use force. He was tired of everything slipping out of his fingers, but this time, he would stop it. He would take it into his own hands. She was going out that night. It was the most opportune time.

He had almost fallen asleep, waiting for her, and he cursed himself as the slam of her front door woke him up. What would he have done if he hadn't woken up? But it was no matter, she hadn't left. Expecting her to take her car, he was surprised when she began to walk out of the neighborhood, and down the road to that connected to the interstate to the city. It was a change of scene, but one that he did not curse. It was better this way. He would not have to follow her with his car.

Again, he couldn't remember much. He didn't remember how she had first heard him, or what he had done to give himself away, but he did remember the feeling of being torn. He wanted her to know it was him, but not this way. But she still did not know that it was he who loved her, so Mariku continued on.

'…What are you doing?'

'…'

'Why the hell are you out here?'

'…Where are you going?'

'I'm going to my boyfriend's house.'

And _that_ was what broke him. He didn't even know what to do. He went from complete calm, a slight happiness, to-to- And Mariku remembered his hands around her throat. He had bolted at her, and in her confusion of not knowing what was happening, she had stood still and let him shove her hard up against the bridge that they had been standing on.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't _fucking_ believe it. He loved her so much, he gave her everything he was, and yet- she did _that_ to him? She had a fucking _boyfriend!?_ It was too much. It was too fucking much. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. He hated her so much. He wished that she would die.

'I fucking loved you.' He had said while tightening his hands around her throat. 'I fucking _loved you,_ you little bitch. You little _bitch!_' Her eyes were unfocussed, were rolled up slightly, and she was crying, mouthing the words 'help me, but he didn't stop, and he squeezed harder. And harder. And harder. He hated her so much. He hated all of them, all of it! Everything! He had wanted her, she was the only thing he wanted! And she turned around and _stabbed _him.

It was hazy for him, too. He didn't know which way was up or who he was. All he knew was that the world had wronged him since he was born, and he was going to do something about it. He was going to fight back. He was going to stop it. His mind was urging him forward! Go, go, go! Don't hold back! You'll never find someone who will love you! Everyone hates you! Kill her, kill her, make her love you! Make her fucking see how much you love her!

Then there was Bakura.

Bakura's hands on him.

Bakura pulling him back.

Bakura, Bakura…

Bakura was there.

He loved Bakura.

Mariku cried, and the police arrested him.

After that, Mariku was reunited with his medicine. Constant surveillance. Therapy. The only reason he was not convicted for life was the sheer luck that she had survived, and the sheer luck that he could pay his way out of it. But- everything- was so dull. Mariku stared blankly at the wall. Bakura held his hand. Bakura sat next to him and stared down at his lap.

'I told you I would never leave you.'

'…I'm sorry, Bakura. …I'm so sorry. I love you…'

'…I love you too. But I'm scared. Four months. You stalked her for four months. I don't even know what to do anymore…'

'Stay with me.'

'I will. I told you. I won't ever leave you.'

But just as before, they both knew. Mariku could never function with just Bakura alone. He needed something else, something that was not his. And he went so long without it, far after he left the hospital, far after he graduated, far after he became an adult. And then he found it, seven years later. A boy, this time. And Mariku instantly knew he loved him. And so, Mariku followed him.

This time, though, he knew that he would have him.

--

"…Malik."

Malik's hands were heavy in his lap.

"…Malik. _Malik._" Malik understood. There was nothing to say.

Absolute silence. Absolute calm.

Terror.

"…Malik?" Bakura's tone caught a somewhat worried tone.

He said nothing. Nothing at all. There was nothing. Nothing at all. _Absolute terror._

Malik didn't know what to do.

He- had been right. All. Along. And his world was crashing down around him. He stared dully at Bakura's chest.

"_Malik._" And Bakura reached out to shake him, grabbing his shoulders.

"DON'T FUCKING _TOUCH_ ME!"And then he reacted. And then Malik's eyes grew wide with terror as his breaths became short and he jumped to his feet. He shook all over, hysterical, backing away into the corner.

"No, no, no, no, nononononono." The shaking would not stop as his back hit the wall and his hands jerked up to hold his head. "Nononono, NO, NO, NO, NONONO!" He was screaming now. Absolute terror.

_This_ was his breaking point.

Because it was all over. Everything. Was over. This was it, the final blow, like watching his last possessions being burned before his very eyes. He couldn't deny it anymore, it was truth. It was fact. _Mariku was his stalker._

From the beginning, he had known. He had known all along that Mariku was his stalker. But he had lied to himself. That one bit of information he had stored away and forced himself to forget about it. That was the last thing he had truly done to save himself, lying. Because… he knew that if Mariku was his stalker, then it was all over. There was no chance for his escape. If Mariku was his stalker, he would die here, in his cursed white room, or try to escape and die trying.

But Bakura knew the truth. He told him, and now he could not lie. He could not deny it anymore. He could not try to save himself, act the part of the fool, naïve, oblivious. Malik had always known, but he was not a martyr. Malik had wanted to _live!_ But Mariku would kill him. He had slowly been going insane, but this was it. This was _his_ breaking point. Mariku. His stalker. He would never let him leave. He would be forever trapped. There was no help for him, no escape! He would die, die!

"Malik, stop it!" Bakura was in front of him, grabbing him again, touching, _touching_ him. "You have to calm down!"

"No, stop it, get off of me, get off of me! Don't touch me! I hate you! I hate you! Fuck!" He was screaming as loud as he could, crying so hard. He hadn't cried in so long, too… "I'm going to die here! I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE!"

"You're not going to die, Malik! Stop it! Stop screaming!"

But he couldn't, he really, really couldn't. This was the end. _It was all over._ He could feel his mind collapsing, the pillars that had been supporting it crumbling as they were dealt the final blow. They had been shaken so long, and this was finally it. They fell with great weight, and left nothing to support him. All that was left was terror. Pure terror. Terror that Malik had never felt before, not when he had been stalked, or first kidnapped, or raped. It was a combination of every ounce of fear he had ever felt. And it, as well, was killing him.

And then there was a slam, and Malik was absolutely quiet.

His heart was beating wild in his chest as he hyperventilated. Bakura was still touching him, but he was quiet as well. Malik cried silently.

"He's home."

Malik knew that. He wasn't stupid. He knew it, and he was going to die. Already, there was a weight so immense in his stomach that he felt like it would tear right through him. The terror was palpable. He was petrified. It was an army against a sole soldier, and it brutalized and maimed and ripped him apart part by part. There was no feeling like it. It left him freezing, and it left him numb.

And he didn't understand why he was standing, either. He didn't know how he forced himself onto his legs. Bakura watched him, still kneeling. Malik couldn't register his expression; he didn't even know the one that he, himself, was wearing. But slowly, Malik opened his door and stepped into the hallway. Slowly, Malik walked down the stairs. Slowly, Malik made his way into the living room. And, slowly, Malik reached out for Mariku's arm where his back was turned towards him, taking off his shoes.

"…Mariku."

Mariku paused, and then turned towards him, smiling. _Smiling._

"Hello, Malik. I missed you. But how did you get out of your room?"

Malik paused, somehow less terrified while he was right next to him, his grim reaper. Malik was thankful that he held onto his sleeve and was not touching his skin.

"Mariku-"

"You shouldn't be out of your room, Malik, but it's okay. Here, I bought you-"

"_DON'T TOUCH ME!"_ He couldn't take it, he couldn't, he couldn't take it anymore. Not the way that Mariku looked at him, how he reached out for him, to touch him, as if he was _his_, his _possession. _Mariku paused as well.

"…I thought we were over that, Malik. I thought you were starting to understand that I love you." There was a bit of hurt in his voice, and Malik was confused when he felt just the slightest bit guilty. But it was gone instantly.

"Mariku… Don't lie to me. Please, please don't lie to me, give me just this." And he paused once again, completely terrified, his hand still on his sleeve.

"…Yes?"

"Mariku- did you- were you-… Mariku. Were you my stalker?" This was it. The final, final stretch to his death. He had to hear it from Mariku. He had to know for sure. It was a suicide mission.

Mariku sighed, closing his eyes, and when he looked back up, Malik was terrified to see that he was not furious, but sad. So incredibly, incredibly sad.

"I didn't want you to find out this way… I don't even know how you did, but it's too early for you to know…"

"M-Mariku." Inside of Malik was the complete mutilation of everything he had ever known.

"I didn't want you to know so soon, I was going to tell you myself. I was going to tell you when you were ready, when you accepted fully that you loved me… But it can't be helped. Malik…" Mariku was touching him. _Touching him._ But Malik was so numb. Mariku's hands were on his face. Mariku was kissing him. "Yes, Malik, I was."

And it was then that he was once again faced with two choices. Either day in the arms of death itself, or save himself and die with the knowledge that he had tried. Life had always been against him.

He chose, and he ran.

* * *

**MINDFUCK. The reason the girl doesn't have a name is to emphasize the fact that Mariku doesn't care _who_ she is, barely even knows who she is, but 'loves' her for what she represents. And that is being what he can't have, the thrill of chasing something that's elusive. Like Mewtwo. Aw HAW. And I'll delve more into Malik's mindfuck int he last chapter. DUDE I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR STICKING THROUGH WITH ME.**


	26. Chapter 26

**One left.**

**

* * *

**

When Malik was younger, he had been bad. He had gotten in fights, bothered his sister, came home late for dinner. He had been a child, in all senses. He had loved life, living, and being alive. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to stay up late for to worry over, and the only time he cried was when he fell and scraped his knee. It hurt, a sharp pain that he thought that he would always remember to be safer for, but it was transient, and once his sister put a band aid on it, he would forget all about it.

Pain?

He supposed he knew what pain was. Pain was those times, when he fell. Pain was when that cute girl called him a freak for his hair color. Pain was when he blamed himself for not having a mother. But that kind of pain was different from real pain. Different from his father. His father understood pain very well, and he taught Malik about it. Malik didn't blame him. He was his father, that's what fathers did. When he said he had been bad, he would punish him. But that was right. That's how it was supposed to be.

Then there was a different pain.

This kind, he did not understand. Pain was short, lingering a few days at the most. But this was different. This kind left him hurting in places unorthodox to himself, and it left him crying. That made it worse. He didn't cry before when he was punished. Boys didn't cry. …But maybe that was his true punishment? To be so humiliated and agonized that he was left crying? Once, his sister had heard him, and had tried to comfort him, touching his shoulders as she asked what was wrong.

Malik didn't like that.

At first, it scared him _to_ be scared. Another thing he didn't understand, and Malik feared what he didn't know. He didn't _know_ why his sister's touch was so absolutely terrifying, why he cried harder and shoved her away. She was his sister. But it burned, and left a red mark where their skin had connected. It had felt like it, anyway. And after that, it always felt like that. It burned worse and worse every time that he was touched, and he reacted as such. His classmates would bully him over it, would all crowd around and try and touch him and watch his reactions. He hated them, he hated them so much. But not his father.

Why?

Again, he wasn't sure. But he knew that he had been bad, just like he had said. And when boys were bad, they were punished. It was how it had always worked. He had just done something horribly, horribly wrong this time, that was why the pain lasted so, so long… And when his father died and his parents were then both dead, the pain stayed with him. It stayed with him for years and years, when he moved to America, when he joined an American school, when he would see his sister late at night worrying over the bills, the pain stayed. But he did not blame his father. He had been bad.

His entire life, he had been bad. And he was punished for it.

He was punished for his mother's death, his fault. He was punished for his behavior, his fault. He was punished for his father's death, his fault. He was punished for _living,_ his fault! His fault! His fault! Malik did nothing right! It was his fault, and it always would be!

But… Was _this_ his fault? Was this torture his own cause? …Perhaps it was. It was his fault for attracting him in the beginning. So…why was he running? Bad boys ran from their punishments, stupid, girly boys who cried and were scared of pain. But Malik wasn't really a boy, anyway. Boys didn't cry, they didn't run, and other men didn't- didn't- …They didn't rape them. So he ran. He ran because he wasn't a boy, because he could, and because he would always be so very, very blinded by the truth.

For the first time that he had left the house, it was warm. The air was light, no longer heavy, dragging the burden of winter. It had been purged, and Malik felt somehow very vaguely freed. Because it _wasn't_ winter any longer, the world _had_ moved on.

Without him.

Because Malik was always the prisoner, locked away. While everything was taken from him, and the only things given hurt him more then they benefited, the world moved on. It mocked him. Dates mocked him, the years, the months, the days, all moving on ahead, leaving him behind in that horrible, horrible room. He was forgotten, alone, alone, alone…

But Malik was running. He was leaving, and he would never go back. He was going to catch up with the world. Malik was running, and he was going to die. He was going to die, so Malik ran faster. Then, he was only an animal, the very basics of instincts; to run from death.

A gush of wind hit him hard when he swung the door open. A whoosh, filled with warm air that revitalized him, reminded him why he wanted to live. The door creaked loudly when he swung it open as far as it could go. Malik didn't hear, though, through the terror that pulsed through him, filling his ears with a roaring noise as his mind was rid of all thought but: run, run, run! Though, even as he skipped steps and his feet finally met the ground, Malik wondered vaguely why he didn't hear the door slam shut. And even through all of his terror, he still managed to look behind him.

He didn't know why, since he had expected it, but he was so terribly, terribly horrified to see Mariku start down the steps after him. Why? He had known he would have run after him, but-. But it only fueled his terror. This was it, this was it, this was everything. He had to run now, he had to get away, he had to move, move!

And so he hesitated no longer, didn't pause for a second as he continued to run across the yard, heading for the forest. He remembered the first time that he had ran, and wished that he could have forgotten it. It was hopeless, trying to escape by following that one, single road, but- it was his only choice. It was his only hope to survive.

The trees grew closer, and Malik strived to reach the shaded forest, his only thoughts focusing on the road that wound through it. He couldn't hear anything other then his own heart beat and his gasps for breath. He hadn't been out of his room in so long, he hadn't exercised well in months, and it hindered him. But still he ran, he made himself move as his feet thudded against the grass and he pushed himself harder and harder.

It was close, now, even if it had only been a couple of seconds. But every second was an eternity in his mind of petrified terror. Everything was agony. Malik didn't even know if he was crying or not. Could he cry? With his mind so focused on escape, could he cry? He supposed he could, because crying was now instinct as well.

It was cooler in the shade of the trees, and the gravel was hard under his feet as he finally reached his destination. It hurt very, very badly. Malik had not worn shoes. But he didn't stop, the pain spurred him on. The first obstacle was over, now all he had left to do was follow the road. Follow the pain. The pain, the pain, the-

_Do you know how much I love you?_

…_You're so perfect, too good for me. Look at you, so beautiful and, god… perfect._

Oh no, oh nonono! Malik screamed, his hands jerking instantly up to his head, grabbing his hair and pulling hard as voices and memories began to surface in his mind. No, no, no! He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to be reminded! He was running, he was leaving! He was going to be saved, he didn't want to remember!

_Oh, Malik, I've told you, you never have to be scared of me. I'll never hurt you._

_You're such a good boy… so good, Malik._

_I'll take care of you._

He remembered, he remembered everything. He remembered from day one, from that horrible, dark room that he had first met Mariku. That he- first _truly_ met Mariku. He remembered waking up and knowing, _knowing_ that 'this is it, this is my Stalker, he finally has me and I'm going to die here, I'm never going to leave'. And he remembered that split second decision, the decision of 'but if he isn't my Stalker, then perhaps there's hope. Maybe there's a chance that he would let me go.' But he had known, he had known that was a lie. So he did. He _did_ lie to himself, he lied to himself to save himself, to keep that one bit of hope left that he could escape. Mariku had always been his stalker, but from that moment on, he was not.

_I'm not letting you go this time._

_You're doing so good, Malik. Don't cry, please._

_I promise you that I will make you feel wonderful. Don't be scared… _

He had always known, he had always known, he had always known. He had lied to himself so long that he had actually started to believe his lies, actually fooled himself into thinking that Mariku wasn't his stalker. But the moments of clarity were the worst, and that's when his depression came. That deep, deep depression where he felt like he was falling, sinking, drowning, and would never again reach the surface. Where the only way to break the water was to die and become buoyant once again. And in a way, he had…

It was a mounting fear, one that had no base or summit, but only a gradual growth with no end. It built and built and built until Malik thought he was going to die, going to choke on his own fear. But still, he ran, even as the gravel bit into his feet and tore his skin. Malik ran, because Malik was obligated. Malik ran, because it was the only thing he had left. Mariku had stripped everything from him; his possessions, his clothes, his dignity, his mind. And now, Malik was left with only himself. Malik wanted to survive.

_Do you still not know how much I love you?"_

_I'll show you, Habibi. I'll show you in a way I know you will understand._

_**I love you**_

He was close, he was so close, his feet were already on the ground, he was already on his way. He ran. One foot after another, the road turning ahead as he passed things that had once been in the distance and-

He felt a jerking tug from around his neck. A sharp, sudden noose that tightened around his neck. It was all in a second, but he could feel himself falling backwards as he felt that thing tighten more and more, reaching his hands up to feel that it was his shirt.

The ground came suddenly fast. Malik fell with a thud, the gravel cutting him. The whoosh of adrenaline seemed to pause for just a moment, confused as to what was happening before it came back full force.

"Goddamnit!"

Malik screamed, scrabbling at the ground, trying to stand up and regain his footing. But Mariku's hands were still on his shirt, and he yanked him back down again. It was a shorter fall, from just his knees this time, but there was no longer that split moment of confusion. Malik only continued trying to get away. Mariku was grabbing at him, screaming at him, but he heard nothing, only felt his hands on him.

"Goddamnit! Goddamnit! You're not doing this! You're not leaving!"

"Get off of me! Get off of me! Get the hell off of me! Somebody, save me! He-"

It was strangely representative of intercourse. As Mariku struggled to get a hold of Malik, trying to pin him down, moving his larger body over him. As Malik struggled and screamed and beat him, trying to get away by any means necessary. As they both sweated and both screamed. As the adrenaline was mutual. As Malik participated every part in it.

And they began to reach their climax as Malik became more and more drained of energy, as he lost his hold and Mariku started to win. Every move forward that Malik would make, Mariku would pull him back, dragging him back to him, groping at anything he could find to crush his hopes at escape. The gravel hurt, both still on the ground, but just as it had helped him run, it motivated him now. Cuts and scrapes were nothing. Malik had lived through so much more.

Mariku was pinning his arms down, now. He was almost completely on top of him. Malik squirmed, screaming as he kicked and tried to beat him away, that mounting terror growing tenfold. A rollercoaster that mounted only to fear, as Malik was the single rider, the force almost too much for his body to handle. And there was Mariku. Always, always Mariku. Mariku on top of him, Mariku touching him.

"You can't leave me, I told you I wouldn't let you leave! You're going to stay with me forever!"

"No! No! I can't, I can't do this anymore! I'm not staying here! I HATE YOU, GET OFF OF ME!"

"N-no, stay still, s-stop trying to resist me!" But Malik persevered, and Mariku was finding it harder and harder to keep a hold on him. Struggling, Malik elbowed him in the chest, for the first time blessed when he hit him hard. Mariku made a slight choking noise before he let go temporarily. But that was all Malik needed, and he scrabbled for the ground, putting his hands first as he pushed himself up and his legs began to move once again.

This time, it was somehow worse. As if his terror now came with the added package of being physically drained. He felt as if death was now sitting in that seat with him as they mounted higher and higher. It transcended fear. There were some things that Malik could never describe.

He didn't concentrate on the road any longer. He didn't pick out individual things in his vision. The only thing he knew and saw was run. Run run run. Just move. Run for your life. Do whatever it takes, just run! RUN, MALIK! And it continued. His feet moved and his legs supported him. Over and over. It was all he was. His exhaustion and his terror were the only working parts of him.

Malik ran for his family. He ran for his sister, to see her at least once, to hug her and feel at home. He ran for his brother, to smile and play around with him like they always used to. He ran for his education, for the job he would some day have in the real world. He ran for his sanity, for the ability to function. He ran for himself, for his own happiness and selfish desires. He ran from Mariku.

How much had he missed? Throughout his life, how much had he missed? His chances at happiness? His father took them away first. Then America and its foreign way of life. Then school. Then his stalker. Then Mariku. But always, always himself. He was the one getting in the way of his happiness. Always it was his fault. Because Malik wouldn't allow himself happiness. He didn't deserve it, and subconsciously, he punished himself. He wasn't worthy. He was a masochist. But he deserved this, right?

This feeling? Did he deserve it? Did he deserve to run, to feel the feeling of being alive as he ran and ran and ran? Because Malik was finally living again. Through everything he had missed, all the chances and moments he could have had, they were coming back to him. He was feeling their life as they all came together into his terror and adrenaline. This was living. This was life at its most fundamental form.

He had said he would die, and he was right.

Because if running, breathing, and adrenaline was life, then wouldn't Mariku catching him once again be death?

Just like the first time, the breath was knocked out of him. It was just all so sudden. He hadn't be expecting it, not really. But it did happen, and Malik felt a hard grip on his arm before he was pulled backwards, the force of the sudden stop in him running making him fall back. And then it was all hands and screaming, more of that horrible, horrible terror as Mariku's body was behind him and he held him in a death lock.

"I-I told you-" Mariku's arms were tight around him, holding him back as he screamed and kicked in sheer desperation, "that I wouldn't let you leave."

In his embrace, time stood still as Malik's heart raced and his mind crumbled. This was it. It was over. It was his one chance at escape, and he blew it. He was going to die here. This was it, this was the end. He was going to die, he was going to die, HE WAS GOING TO DIE! Malik screamed, hyperventilating, completely lost as Mariku's hands moved up his neck. He was so tired…

"This way, it'll fix everything."

Malik's eyes went wide, the last thing he saw being the gravel road that should have saved him, as Mariku jerked his neck and he went unconscious.

--

Malik didn't remember being so peaceful in such a long time. Just completely relaxed. Faintly, he wondered if he was drugged, but he didn't dwell on it much. It was too perfect. It was just perfect. Completely perfect. He was back home, in Egypt, with his father and his mother and his sister and his brother. They were happy. They were laughing. Malik didn't want it to end.

It was a warm day, warmer then even what they were used to, and Malik was outside playing with his friends. His friends liked him, and no one noticed his hair color. They went down to the river, got muddy, and when he came back home, his mother welcomed him in with a loving smile and embrace, telling him that she had made dinner. His father laughed at his dirty clothes.

Dinner was wonderful, full of flavor. Kushari, his favorite. His sister told them about a boy at school who had been paying attention to her. Malik didn't really like it, but he listened as she went on, growing bored with her girly talk. He looked over at Rishid, who smiled back at him and flicked a piece of rice at him from under the table. Malik giggled, and his father looked at him but said nothing.

His mother did the dishes, and Malik did his homework. He was good at school, the smartest one in his class. He liked learning English, and even did the extra credit down at the bottom. Rishid and he shared a room. Rishid didn't hang around much, though, but he was there that night. He was sitting on his bed, working on some model or another. They didn't say much. It was a quiet night.

Once homework was done, Malik decided to go to bed. He didn't mind sleeping, because he knew the next day would be just as perfect. Turning off the light, he got under the covers and waited for his mom to tell him goodnight. It didn't take long, and he smiled when he saw her silhouette in the door way. She crossed the room quietly, and sat on the corner of his bed. Her hand rested on his head, smoothing back his hair as she told him that she was so proud of what he had done, and that she loved him so much. Kissing him on his forehead, she left, and Malik fell asleep.

And it was quiet, and so perfect, and wonderful, and- everything. It was everything. This was his life, and he loved it. He loved being alive so much. But there were noises in his sleep. He didn't understand that. The house was always so quiet. Screaming? He didn't understand. Because it got louder and louder and louder AND LOUDER AND LOUDER!

Malik's eyes shot open. His heart beat fast. It was pitch black in his room. But he could hear the screaming, individual voices. His mother and father. Malik was scared, but he ignored it. Boys didn't get _scared_. So he got quietly out of bed. Rishid was not in the room. He was confused. But he listened quietly against the door.

He didn't know what they were screaming about, or why. Why would they scream? Their life was perfect. He didn't understand… But he had to fix it. They were being so stupid. They shouldn't be arguing, they were married! Malik had to fix it. So, he quietly opened the door, and walked into the hallway. His sisters door was open. Why was she gone as well? But he didn't think about it much.

The screaming stopped the second he moved into the living room.

"Mom? Dad?"

He could only see his father, who's back was turned to him. Moving farther into the room, he could see his mother laying face down on the floor. H-He didn't understand…

"D-Dad? Why is Mom on the floor?"

His father didn't answer. Malik's heart began to beat faster as he continued to walk farther into the room. He felt sick. His eyes were watery. He knew, he knew.

"D-Dad… Dad… D-Dad, I-!"

His mother was laying dead on the floor. There was a pool of blood around her. His father continued to say nothing. Malik was scared. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know why his father had killed his mother.

Malik's hand shook as he reached out for his shoulder. His father turned, and he screamed.

His father was then him. He was looking at himself as he held a knife, standing above his dead mother's body. Malik didn't know what to do, or think. He stepped back, and tripped, falling backwards. He continued to scream. Then he heard running, and he looked back to see his father standing at the doorway.

"Malik! What did you do!!? What in god's name did you do! My wife is dead! You killed your mother!"

Then the Imposter Malik was gone, and it was _him_ who held the knife, who was standing in front of his Mom. No matter how hard he tried, he could not let go of the knife.

"No, Dad, no! I didn't kill her! It wasn't me! It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean for her to die! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"I'm sick of your lies! You've always been such a little fucking brat! You never listen to anything I tell you! I told you not to get your clothes dirty, not to fight! It's your fault she's dead!"

Malik was crying. He looked down at himself, and his father was right. There was mud all over his clothes from the fight he had been in earlier.

"Dad, please, no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It wasn't my fault!"

"But you know what happens when you disobey, don't you, Malik? When you're bad? Well this is the worst you've ever been. You need to be punished."

And then it was all feeling. He saw nothing, felt nothing. But somehow, he could still _feel._ It wasn't physical feeling. It was deep feeling. It was deep hurting, right in his very heart and mind. He wouldn't forget his lesson, that terror. Never, ever again. And Malik still grieved for his mother. He cried as he was hurt. Vaguely, Malik understood that his father was dead.

Then he was on a plane to America. That's where his brother and sister had been, why they weren't in their rooms. He should have known. The plane took him right to their house, a small little apartment. Immediately, they dressed him in new clothes and taught him a new culture and shoved him to school. He hated it the second he arrived. They all looked at him with disgust. Even in his own country, he had been different. Here, he was a freak.

But there was a friend. He didn't really ever see the face of his friend, but he knew he was his friend. He wasn't something palpable, but he made him feel very good, like it would be okay, like he fit in more. Directly after that, when he walked home from school, was an intense, piercing sensation in his heart, right where his father had hurt him. He clutched at his chest where it ached. But where the horrible hurting sensation came from, also came declarations of love.

Love, love, love. This hurting in his chest somehow loved him. Very much, it said, more then anything, more then life. The hurting was going to take care of him with its love. At some point, he escaped the hurting, but only for a short period of time, because the pain followed him everywhere. The pain made him stagger when he walked, his hand always clenched on his chest as he kept his head down and tried not to cry. But his friend was saving him, little by little. He was so nice, so wonderful, and Malik loved him as a friend. Then he was dead. Just. Dead.

Somehow, he knew that the pain in his chest, the pain that followed him, killed him. Then it was only him and the pain. His sister and brother were gone. He was vulnerable, alone. Drowning, drowning in terror. The pain sucked him up, tore at him, bit at him, ate away at his body, and took him far away. Malik was screaming, but there was no one there to hear. Not his mother or his father or his sister or his brother or his friend. Nothing. Nobody. Malik was alone, alone, alone… alone… Malik was dying.

"_Malik?"_

He hadn't hear his mother's voice in so long.

"_Malik, you know I don't blame you, right? I love you Malik, my baby… It's not your fault, it wasn't your fault. I'm so glad that I had you, that you're alive. Just live, just live for me."_

"Mom…" His voice worked.

"_Malik?"_

"_Malik?"_

He didn't understand why she said his name over and over. He didn't understand, but he could see her faintly, even as she began to disappear once again. He felt hysterical. He didn't want her to leave.

"_Malik?"_

"_Malik?"_

Slowly, her voice started to change. It became deeper, different. Malik was losing her, even as he tried so hard to keep her with him.

"_Malik?"_

"Malik?"

"Mom?"

"No, shh, don't worry, it's me."

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay asleep forever, in that perfect place before everything was ruined. There were hands on him. Malik didn't have the energy to be scared. Someone was holding his hand. …Someone. When they touched him, he felt pain.

"I'm sorry…" His voice was quiet as his eyes stayed closed. He became more and more aware to the world. He hadn't meant for her to leave… It was his fault, he was so sorry…

"It's okay, Habibi, I understand."

It was silent again. Malik only heard the faint sound of his own breathing, and a clock ticking somewhere. There was a light to his left that shown brightly through his eyelids. Malik's heart ached.

"…Why are you doing this to me?"

He heard Mariku take in a short, little breath before his hands tightened slightly around his own.

"Because I love you."

"There's no such thing as love."

Malik's eyes were open now, staring dully up at the ceiling. It was night, now, but his vision was hazy and his mind took a while to process things. He knew he had been drugged. Malik didn't look over at Mariku. He didn't want to. It didn't matter anymore.

"Do you really believe that, Malik?" There was that dangerous tone in his voice, that one that stayed sedimentary until disturbed. But Malik didn't care. He just didn't care. There was nothing left. Let Mariku be mad, let him hit him, let him rape him. It did nothing.

"If you loved me at all, you would let me go." His voice lacked so much emotion.

There was that pause again. That same pause that Mariku made every time he heard something unfavorable, something that he didn't like. He was so- childish… But something about him had changed. Malik didn't know why. Maybe because he _knew_ the reasons now. And somehow, it hurt just a bit to know that Mariku didn't truly love him, but used him as a tool for his own happiness.

Mariku shifted, and let go of his hand in favor of grabbing his chin and wrenching his head towards him. The sudden jerk made his head throb, coupled with the drug. Malik looked worriedly up at Mariku, holding his breath just a bit. Even if Malik didn't care, he was still scared. The terror remained. Malik didn't know how to describe the expression on Mariku's face.

"Do you know," He said slowly, looking down at him with what could have possibly been the slightest bit of contempt, "what it feels like to love somebody? Obviously not, my dear Malik. You don't know anything of what it's like, how your heart aches for that person, where you kill yourself over and over just thinking about them, an obsession without any ill will. You can't possibly know what it's like. To be in love, to love somebody so much that you would die for them. It's the most wonderful feeling in the world, and it's the most _horrible."_

On that word, he clenched his teeth, so it came out more as a hiss, gripping his chin tighter. Malik vaguely realized that he was restrained. The panic was dulled through the drug.

"It makes you want to absolutely _kill_ something, some way to just- just- just fucking _show_ this horrible thing you're feeling. It makes you want to break down and cry, because they're all you can think about. Them, them! So perfect while you're so ugly. But…" He calmed a bit, loosening his grip, "it is the most wonderful and beautiful. It's elating, Malik. It makes you happy through anything, it makes you feel like everything will be okay. And then-!" His voice lifted in pitch, just a bit, almost in a singsong manner. "You are betrayed, because some things are just too good."

Silence, again. The clock persisted. The persistence of time, of memory… Malik was stuck in a world where nothing changed, and time only progressed behind the walls that sealed him in. Mariku had closed his eyes.

"You don't know what it feels like, because you will never be in love. You don't know what it feels like to have the person you love leave you. Or try, anyway. It makes you sick. It makes you physically sick. You go insane with depression, but no crying or act of grieving will ever fix anything. It eats away at you, the depression. It starts from the inside. It travels up, up, until it's all you can think about. About how much you loved them, and how they crushed that. It's selfish, Malik. While you're left alone, eroding but still plagued with their face and everything you had and could have had with them- they're away, living their own selfish life. You're selfish, Malik, so very selfish."

It was quiet, but not silent as Mariku leaned his head forward into his hands. He was not crying, his shoulders were not shaking, but something was very, very wrong.

"…Mariku, I want to live."

"AND YOU ARE!" The anger returned, and the hands were gone from his face. Oh, he was angry… "BUT YOU'RE TOO GODDAMN SELFISH TO ACCEPT IT! YOU'RE A FUCKING MARTYR, MALIK! YOU _WANT_ TO BE UPSET! YOU DON'T WANT TO ACCEPT THAT YOUR PAIN IS YOURS ALONE! YOU HAVE THE PERFECT LIFE, BUT YOU HAVE TO BE HURT! YOU HAVE TO BE ABLE TO HATE YOURSELF!" Mariku jumped to his feet, the chair getting knocked back and away, hitting the wall with a thud. He slammed his fists down onto the bed, and Malik's eyes widened with fear.

"I GIVE YOU FUCKING EVERYTHING! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU COULD EVER WANT! I LOVE YOU, MALIK! AND YOU GO OFF AND DO THIS! IT'S ALL FOR YOU, YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE ELSE!" Malik was trapped. Trapped as Mariku climbed over him. He moved on top of him, straddling his waist as he held his shoulders and shook him. Everything about Mariku was intense, both the anger and sadness on his face.

"I don't, I don't! I just want to _live!_ I want my life back! I don't want this, I don't want to be here! I'm scared, I miss my family, I want to go outside! I just want away! I just want everything back! I hate you! I hate you more then anything! Mariku, I don't lov-"

And he hit him _hard._ Malik's mind went blank. His head swung harshly to the side, at a dangerous angle. He was scared his neck had been broken. But it hadn't, and Malik was able to feel the pain from the hit. It didn't hurt him permanently, but he was paralyzed on his own measures. He went completely numb. Mariku was still, and Malik was not looking at him. The ticking of the clock came back. Soft. Tick, tick, tick… And then he started to move.

Mariku was heavy on top of him, his legs pinned him on either side, even if Malik _could_ move. His breathing was soft, but it would catch every so often as Mariku's hands started to touch him, touch him as always. Mariku was crying.

"Do you know…" He began softly, mimicking his touch. His fingers were not harsh. "How beautiful you were? You're always beautiful, Malik, but you were so much- _more_ when you were younger. Your face was different, more round. You weren't as skinny back then. You _were_ beautiful, Malik. I don't think you can really blame me…"

He felt sick. Terror was rekindled when he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and his knuckles brushed against his skin. His skin, their skin, touching, touching… Mariku was his terror. It was so common, now…

"I remember the first day I saw you, down to every detail. It was your favorite book store. I watched you go through books, but you financial state couldn't satisfy what you wanted. I followed you back home, but I was already entranced with you. I watched you every day, I followed you home and made sure everything was okay. I protected you, I did everything I could. I sent you money. Malik, I _allowed_ you your apartment. You couldn't have continued paying for it if it wasn't for me. I gave you everything, just as I do now. I'm you're life. You can't live without me."

He was gentle, very gentle as he began slowly sliding his shirt off, starting with his shoulders, slipping the material down. Malik told his brain to move! Get away!, but it didn't work. He was paralyzed by fear, and whatever Mariku had drugged him with. His arm was heavy and limp when he moved the sleeve off of it. His entire body was limp as Mariku turned him onto his side partly to remove his shirt completely. It was with a great amount of care. It disgusted him.

Mariku reached for his face, touching his cheeks gently, turning his head so that he was forced to look at him. Malik didn't have the energy to look away. And he was right, Mariku _was_ crying. Very hard, but it was silent. His tears dripped onto his nose and cheek when he leaned down slowly and kissed him. Everything was soft, now. He kissed him with desperation.

Over and over he kissed him, holding his head between his hands. Short, small little kisses, wherever he could find space for them. He would break away periodically to look at him, still crying. It was strange to see him cry. It made Malik's face wet.

"I invested so much in you." His voice was breathy as his kisses continued. "So much time and money. I got a job at the bookstore just so I had an excuse to talk to you. You were so quiet, but when I got you to talk you had such a snippy tongue. I'm glad you changed that. It's not flattering to insult strangers, Habibi."

"But that's how I am…"

Mariku paused. Then continued. "I loved you so much. I didn't ever want to part from you, even if you didn't know I was there. That's why I sent you letters. That way, you would always be thinking about me, even if you didn't know _me_. It made Bakura, upset, though... But it didn't matter. Nothing will ever come between us. We're meant for each other, and I understood that. I was prepared to fall in love with someone so young. Other people might see it as taboo, but love doesn't pick and choose, Malik. It just- it happens. And it happened to me, and it will happen to you. You will love me."

Malik would not cry. Even as he listened to everything he said, even as he finally accepted the fact that Mariku was his stalker, and even as Mariku moved his hands to his pants, he didn't cry. There was just… nothing left to cry for. It was all over, that was all. He just gave up.

The tick of the clock seemed to slow a bit as his heart rate increased. Still, that fear. That low fear that had no weight, but pulled him down and crushed him. The fear pooled in his stomach and near his throat as Mariku unzipped his pants. He knew what was going to happen, he always did, but it was always so…new. He never knew how to deal with it. _Was _there a way to deal with it?

"I wanted to touch you so bad." Mariku said, pulling his pants down his hips. "It was so _hard_ not to, even pleasuring myself wouldn't get you out of my head. You have an amazing way of doing that to me, Malik. I swear, you're like a disease, a wonderful disease that has no cure, no panacea… I knew I had to have you, I had to have you all to my very own."

He smiled, sitting back just a bit when he had pulled all of his clothes successfully off. Or at least, as much as he could. There was something restraining his ankles, some sort of bar… Malik felt naked, far past the physical sense as Mariku looked at him. His eyes pierced right through him. He studied him, even though he had seen everything.

Malik was so lost… his mind swam, twisting, turning, opposing thoughts crashing into each other, leaving the rubble in his mind only something more to weigh him down. He was being dragged down, down…

"How can you be so perfect… Even now, I struggle to find the answer, how one person can be so-" Mariku was touching his thighs, rubbing his thumb along the inside, and rolling pieces of skin between his middle and index finger. It hurt. But Malik wasn't so sure if he was as terrified to be naked in front of him anymore. Touch was the same everywhere. Mariku's look was the same everywhere. It was just… Malik wished that he knew why it hurt so much.

His head swam, hurting, vision more and more hazy as Mariku continued to touch him. Malik no longer resisted, and he didn't think he would even if he could. It was all over. Vaguely, Malik registered that Mariku had begun to take off his clothes. It took a while, since he concentrated only on him, but one by one the clothing pieces fell. They were both left with only themselves, and Mariku could no longer disguise his true nature.

"I love you." Mariku was speaking softly as he lifted his legs up and moved between them, the bar making it a little difficult. "I love you so much. More then anything. More then life. I want you to be with me forever. I love you more than words can describe."

Malik's lips were motionless. His eyes were dull. He watched him without a reaction, hardly caring about his erection. Malik didn't think that Mariku cared that he was limp. Because it wasn't about him, it would never be about him…

"You've made everything perfect." And it came to be the time before the storm, where Mariku said horrible things, things he called love. Malik knew it would happen. He did it every time. "You fixed everything. You made me better. My Malik… I can _live_ now. You complete me. And I'm never going to let you leave, ever."

Oh, he was going to do it, now… Kisses on the mouth, then the cheek, down his neck and chest… It was all routine. Then he was pressing against him. He knew this. It was… ordinary. Malik had grown used to it. Mariku held his hand, which surprised him just a bit. He didn't even know where his hand was, it felt numb. In an act of suicide, Malik looked up at him.

"I'm not going to prepare you. I know it will hurt, and I _want_ it to hurt. I want you to feel everything that I did, Malik, when you ran from me… The pain I felt, even if you were gone only a couple of minutes. Give and take. I can't give you everything. But- Malik… I do love you. You are mine. You will be with me forever. I love you, Malik, I _love you._"

And Mariku was right when he had described earlier what it felt like. It _was_ a dull pain that started low in his body, then moved up. Then everything hurt. Everything. It burned, it made him suffer. Always, always pain…

Mariku moved over him, pushing forward, having a bit of difficulty since he had decided to take him dry. But Mariku didn't care, and after the first thrust, he held no inhibitions. It was hard, rough, and it hurt so badly. It hurt. It just hurt. It hurt because it was somehow symbolic to everything he had lived through. In, and the pain would reach an unbearable crescendo, and then out, where it would dull, but leave him still feeling it's absence and memory. And then back in, hurting more since the wounds had not healed, and then out where he did not have enough time to recover.

It went over and over like that. Over and over Mariku rocked his hips forward and Malik moaned because, again, Mariku was right. He did love it. He loved being a martyr, being helpless and blame his pain on things he could not control, even though they were his fault. Mariku was _always_ right, since the very beginning. He should have realized it. Malik was so stupid, he was so goddamn worthless. He had let everything, everybody down. Himself. He had killed himself with his own masochism. He could have ran harder, farther, pushed himself more, but- no… And now, he suffered for it.

Because Malik was crying. Because this was the end. Because it all built up and up and up and up AND UP AND UP AND UP! Because there was no hope left, nothing at all. Because he loved it, the feeling, how Mariku would work that thing inside of him just right.

Malik didn't cry. Malik sobbed. Malik screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He screamed for everything he lost, and everything he would never experience. They were hard, heavy tears. They were tears that made his throat choke up when he cried harder and Mariku fucked him harder. His face was heated, contrasting how cold they were.

He cried for Mariku, screaming and begging for everything, for forgiveness for everything. He hated him, he hated him, he hated him so much. And he loved him. He hated him so much and he loved him for what he had did. Because Mariku took the blame off of himself. Malik blamed himself for everything in the past. It was always his fault. But now… It was Mariku who did all the work, and it was brazened clearly in front of him.

"I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I WISH YOU WOULD DIE! I WISH I-I HAD NEVER MOVED TO AMERICA- AND- DAD- I WISH- I HATE YOU I HATE YOU WHY. WHY WHY-Y AA- N-No…" He was so helpless, so lost and alone. He was just a child, and he held onto Mariku to somehow save him from himself. His mind was a fortress, and it was collapsing, crushing him underneath as it went up in flames. Mariku was his only savior, even if he had committed the act of arson in the first place…

And eventually, it felt good, and Malik played the part. His character was a whore, a fucking whore who moaned and writhed and cried out. And Malik played it well, he acted naturally. He moaned and writhed and cried out. His back arched when the time dictated. He sobbed, and cursed the world as he took pleasure in his death bed.

And since sex _was_ so symbolic to his life… The metaphors were homogeneous. Terror was a building crescendo. So was sex. It built and built and built, with no base, but this time, it did have a summit. Malik was reaching it. He accelerated quickly towards it as Mariku grit his teeth above him and kissed whatever piece of skin he could find. His mind, already foggy, was now pitch black. There was nothing left.

"I love you."

But everything ended. Everything died. And so did the pleasure. Malik did not feel orgasm physically, he felt it emotionally. It was hatred and depression and pleasure and pleasure and, above all else, pain. The end, the end… Malik could no longer blame Mariku alone, because he had set the fire to his mind along with him, and they both watched it go down in flames.

Rushing feelings and overwhelming pleasure and building climax and complete euphoria and then- nothing. And then it was over. Because life was cruel, and Malik lay sobbing silently on the bed, used. He didn't even feel Mariku with him anymore. He had never noticed him leaving. But Mariku's pain remained between his legs. Malik didn't even know if he had the strength to feel disgusted as he felt Mariku's own cum ooze out of him. There had to have been blood, as well. Malik decided that he didn't care. Orgasm had killed him. He was finally dead.

Then there was touch on his thigh. Oh, there was Mariku… There was something being tied around his thigh, a rope, a knot, and then it was tightened hard. Very hard. Malik's voice did not portray the pain when his skin got caught in it since he was too tired to scream. More pain, more bleeding. Malik didn't understand why the dead should feel pain…

It was repeated again on his other leg, but Mariku was more considerate this time. Almost instantly, Malik's legs went literally numb, no longer metaphysically. Malik felt the smallest bit of fear flicker inside of him.

"This," Mariku said, climbing back onto the bed with him. Malik didn't move his head to look at him, and could only see a portion of his body, "will make you perfect, _us_ perfect. It will fix all of our problems. This way, you'll never leave me again. You'll never be able to run away."

Mariku was kissing his knees. He licked them. He bent his knee and moved his tongue into the crevice he had created. It was molestation. Mariku didn't pay any attention to any other of his body parts.

He did that for a while, until Malik no longer felt him kissing him at all, and his legs were truly numb. And then, Malik grew scared, even through his sedation and slightly lingering orgasmic haze. Terror grew from a flicker to a blazing fire when Mariku left the bed and the room, and returned a minute later with- something- horrible.

Mariku stood right next to his head and brushed his bangs from out in front of his eyes. "I know you won't understand at first, but you will later. You'll thank me for this, just as everything else. You'll be sad, depressed afterwards, but it will get better. The pain is good for you. And I'll be here for you. I will ease everything."

He moved away, and Malik's eyes followed him. His heart beat unnaturally slow. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was like watching a horror movie, it couldn't be real. Malik used his one bit of energy left, and tried desperately to squirm. Mariku only smiled and moved an arm to keep him still. His attempts were easily crushed.

"Malik, I love you."

And Malik watched in slow motion as Mariku lifted that horrible thing up. It paused for only a second in mid air, before falling back down to earth as he swung it hard, and it cracked against his knee. And that time, Malik _did_ scream. Even if his leg was numbed, he still felt it. He felt it so much. And he heard the bone in his knee make a condemning 'crack.'

It was fire, fire, everything all at once. It was pain. That's what it was, pure and simple. Pure, unbridled, unrestrained, unadulterated pain. Malik threw his head back and screamed. His mind was overwhelmed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He cried and wailed and sobbed harder then he had done during sex. It was horrible and horrible and intense and too much to handle and then- just as before, it seemed to quell, and Malik was left sobbing and hyperventilating on the bed. His breaths came in as wheezes, gasps, and his chest rose too high and fell too low, taking in any breath that he could handle.

Playing the part of the perfect horror villain, though, Mariku continued. Malik shook all over, began pleading and crying, if possible, even harder as Mariku moved to his other knee. The bar between his legs, attached at his ankles, acted as a brace and kept him from moving his leg.

"No… no, no no no nono, M-Mariku, don't. Please, don't- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll do whatever you want-"

"You told me that before, didn't you, My Malik? Don't promise me things you cannot give."

Malik wished desperately for the death that he related so much too. For permanent unconsciousness as Mariku raised the sledgehammer once again. His heart stood still, no thought left in his mind as his eyes widened as far as they could go. A pause, and Mariku's lips moved. He barely heard his voice.

"And this way, you'll love me too."

The swing, the connection, the crack, Malik's scream, and then-

It was all over. Malik passed out.

--

Malik was a child, and Malik was laughing. Malik was happy, and Malik was loved. Forever and always.

* * *

**This is the last time I'll be asking for reviews. Please, supply them. …Also, the last bit reminds me of Da Pokemanz. ' Malik ran out of pokemon. Malik can no longer fight. Malik wited out.' …What does it even mean, anyway? …This was a total mood killer, for the lulz.**

**...Also I got a review that said this, but I've been meaning to say this for a while: There's this Stephen King book called Misery where all this shit goes down in the hood, but it's pretty similar to Stalker in some aspects. I had everything in Stalker planned out before I saw it, and then I saw it and I cried many bucketfulls of emo tears of sorrow because it seemed as if I ripped it off. I did not, oh the woe, I did not. Great minds think alike, I suppose. Also because I'm almost as hot ass as Stephen King. Oh _baby._**


	27. Chapter 27

**So I started this a year and a half ago as a homage to my favorite pairing. It was small, and for a while I forgot about it. I wasn't really going to do anything with it. I just wanted an excuse to write porn. But then I became involved in it, and the world which I shoved the characters in became more and more real.**

**Malik's fear of touch came from my own slight aphephobia, but I've since been able to let it finally die. I put myself into the characters, all of them. While writing Malik, I wrote using the my own mindset of blaming myself and fear. For Mariku was not being able to come to acceptance. Bakura I wrote with my own inclination towards masochism. It was easy to get into character, and in some sort of roundabout way, I tackled some of my own problems.**

**Of course, it was always just a hobby. It was for fun, even though I'd get paranoid over updating. I've met so many people through this fanfic, and fandom, and would like to thank all of you. It's really meant a lot to me. I'm sad that it's over, but I'll be working on other things now, so keep watching~**

**But I guess it's time to finally let things die. I've put Malik through so much, and this is finally the end. It was inevitable, and I'm happy about the conclusion. This fic marks a milestone in my writing, and has helped me evolve so much. I'll really miss it, and what I gained from it. But in the end, fandom is fandom, and every story ends.**

**-Ami**

* * *

"Malik?"

It was cold again. It was cold and the air was suffocating. Biting, pulling, chilling his skin. It was cold and the temperature seeped into him, like a virus, eroding away at his bones and leaving only ice in their place. Malik hated the cold.

"Malik, it's time to get ready."

He could see outside. The trees had no leaves on their branches. Bare. He felt as bare as they did. Even now, stripped down and left to be abused by natural causes…

"Malik, please look at me."

Malik stared out his window. He sat motionless with his hands in his lap and his shoulders hunched. He didn't want to leave, he was too scared. Terror had been dulled. He was used to fear, but still, he was scared. Malik didn't want to go, he didn't want to face it. Not after so long. He didn't want to, he didn't want to-.

"Malik, pleas-"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

His eyes went suddenly wide as he twisted around and smacked the hand away that had almost moved to rest on his shoulder. He stared at them for a while, heart beating fast, hyperventilating as he thought about what would have happened if that had really come in contact with him. But he calmed, and his fear leveled out. Malik's shoulders slumped once again and he let out a shaky sigh. He moved his eyes away.

"…I'm sorry, Isis, I didn't mean to react like that…"

His sister stood silently in front of him. Her expression was hard to read. She was sad, he knew, but it was like she was trying to hide it from him. It was pointless, anyway. There wasn't any reason to be sad anymore… It wasn't her problem. It wasn't her problem it wasn't her problem it wasn't her problem… Malik looked regretfully up at her and shifted on his bed so that he faced her.

"You know not to touch me…"

There was something so heartbreaking in the way she looked at him. But she nodded and her hands moved to her sides. He expected her to leave, but instead, she moved towards him and sat next to him on his bed. Malik stiffened, but did nothing other. This was his sister. He didn't have to be scared. She wouldn't touch him, she wouldn't hurt him. …Right? She wouldn't, would she?

"It's over, Malik." Her voice was soft.

"I know." Was his reply. He looked down at his lap.

"You don't have to be scared anymore."

"I know." This time, his voice was flat.

They had gone over this so many times. He agreed to everything she said. He always had. But nothing ever changed. She said it would come with time, but… How long? Who measured his pain? Who decided that it was time that he recovered? What higher being? Malik almost laughed. The same ones who had decided everything, from the very beginning. Malik had no god.

It was silent after he spoke. His sister seemed to have nothing to say. His clocked ticked in the absence of voice. He _wanted _her to say something. After so long, Malik appreciated her voice. But he didn't want to be force fed the same lines over and over. He already knew what that felt like.

"Maybe it'll be different. After now." He was surprised to find that it was his own voice.

Isis looked over at him. Her mouth was open slightly and her eyebrows were furrowed. She looked sad. The light from his window made her eyes appear so hauntingly blue. She looked at him, just looked, as that clock just kept ticking and ticking. Time was passing, going by, second after second after second! He wanted her to say something! He didn't want her to lose time, life! Talk, talk! But his eyes gave away nothing. Malik was good at that. None of them knew what was going on in his head.

"You know…" Something within her seemed a bit defeated. The sadness was still there, but it was dulled, pushed down to create a foundation for other emotions as they built a sturdy structure within her. "I always said that to myself. Everything will always be different, Malik. Even in the beginning I told myself that it would be different, without you, even though it hurt. And then the investigation began, and I told myself that my pain would be different because I had hope." She laughed softly. "That didn't do much. It never does. You can hope and hope and believe all you want, but the only change that's going to happen, is if you do it yourself."

Pessimism wasn't one of his sister's traits. But actually, Malik wasn't sure if her words were cynical or not. Perhaps they were true, and he didn't want to deal with them. And she was right. Something inside Malik hurt.

"It's hard."

"Of course it is, would it be anything else?" She sighed, and moved her elbows back so that she was reclining, and stared up at the ceiling before closing her eyes. "You know life isn't fair. But it's not attacking just you. You aren't the only protagonist. How do you think I felt when my baby brother never came home? When we looked and looked and the months passed without you here? It was hard for me, too. It was hard for all of us. But we had to make the best of life. All of us do. We're all given obstacles, and it's our duty to overcome them. Survival of the fittest… Your main challenge is over, Malik, but there are other ones that have still lasted.

…He's gone, Malik. Nothing's going to happen to you ever again."

"He's not. He's not gone, he's never gone, Isis, you don't understand…" Malik moaned and fisted his hands into his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was something she would never understand. She didn't understand that while, although his physical touch was gone, he was always there. Mariku was always with him, reminding him, touching him, stalking him.

At night he was there. In the evening. When he looked into the mirror. When he changed his clothes. When something brushed up against him. It was Mariku's other final gift to him. He would never, ever leave.

Isis said nothing. He didn't look at her. He didn't want to. He knew she cared about him, that she loved him and that she would never take for granted having him back again, but even still he knew that she grew frustrated with his retorts. He made minimal progress. She had heard everything he had said at least twice before. He didn't mean to make her frustrated or upset, but he did nothing to try and change it. There was no point.

So it was quiet, once again. Tick, tick, tick… The passing of time unnerved him as he sat silent and still. He didn't know what to do, and apparently, neither did she. She hadn't given up on him, but-… What was there left to say?

She shifted on the bed next to him, and he heard her heels click on the ground as she moved to his doorway. He glanced up at her.

"…You should get ready, Malik. We have to be there in two hours."

"Okay."

And she shut his door.

Malik let out a soft sigh, and turned away from the door. He didn't like to be left alone, but he didn't really like to be around people that much now, either. While he missed his sister's presence, he felt less suffocated. He didn't like people looking at him, touching him…

It was time to get ready, though. Today was it. It was the day of Mariku's trial. Today was what meant everything to Malik. His physical demons would finally be gone forever, permanently…

Inside his head, Malik felt the beginning of turmoil once again. Pulling, grabbing, groping at his mind. Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it… But it was something he had to do without setbacks. Malik had to turn off his mind, just as he had done before. Being naked always had that affect on him.

He turned, and looked for what he needed. Spotting them, Malik reached for his crutches, and put them under his arms. Standing up shakily, Malik breathed out heavily in exertion. It hurt to stand, but inside the house, he had to walk. Malik didn't look down at his ankles. He couldn't bare it.

Walking slowly to his bathroom, he shut the door behind him. He was completely sealed off from the rest of the world, no windows, and a locked door. His heart sped up just a bit. Malik looked up at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes never leaving his alter's as he gently put down his crutches and held onto the rail that had been installed. His eyes haunted him, but he was no longer emaciated. He had gained weight.

Even still, his body was ugly. So, so ugly as he forced himself to pull his shirt over his head. He felt sick as his skin was left to the open air. The same was done with his pants, and he was naked. And he was scared, but- no. He had to turn off his mind. He couldn't do this if he thought. Thinking was too hard. He had to be a robot, just as before.

Limping to his shower, Malik tested the water and waited for it to heat up. The water was cleansing as he stepped in. His balanced faltered for a bit, so he quickly reached out for a different rail. He sat down on the ledge that had been installed. It admittedly felt good. The water poured on him, over him, touching him everywhere, but it didn't hurt. It felt nice.

Routine, routine. He had to wash his hair, so he did. He had to use conditioner, so he did. He had to clean himself so- so he did. His own touch wouldn't hurt him… Nothing would happen, he just had to scrub himself clean. Because he was dirty. So, so dirty.

Mariku's hands were his own. Touching himself, touching, touching… He was so disgusting. But- no, goddamnit, no! It wasn't the same anymore! It was different, it was different!

Malik made a stifled scream, and threw the soap at the shower door where it fell to the floor with a thud. His eyes were wide as he shook but didn't see what was in front of him, only what he imagined. He grabbed at his hair and clenching his teeth. He wasn't home. He was in his room, that horrible, horrible room. He was washing himself and Mariku was there. Mariku was touching him and Mariku was hurting him. It hurt so bad, so bad! And it wouldn't stop! Over and over and everywhere Mariku could reach. Malik was crying and Malik was begging but it wouldn't stop.

_Please, please, please stop. No more, I'm scared, I-I'm so scared._

_I love you._

_I can't take this anymore. I'm going to d-die._

_I love you._

_I hate you! I want to go home! Let me go, please, please, stop!_

_I love you._

They said it was over, but it wasn't. It never would be, and the water did not feel good. It violated him. Malik never said it could touch him! Mariku was touching him! No- no- n-no!

"No, no no. No no no no! N-no, stop, don't, please- no!"

Malik eyes went wide, and his hyperventilation stopped. That was- his voice. And he was- at home. This was his bathroom, and Mariku was not there. The only hands on him were his own, wrapped around himself. He was so pathetic…

He looked down at his feet. They were bent strangely, now. His knees were deformed. The angle was macabre, bending in just a bit so that his feet didn't line up right. It disgusted him. A cripple, that was what he was. And everyone pitied the a cripple. Except for himself. He blamed himself, but this was not his fault. Yet, he did not mourn over it. It was simply a fact. He would never walk correctly again. The end.

The water continued to splatter down on him and the shower door, making a hollow pattering noise. He didn't feel like moving. He was in a state where he didn't think about anything, but felt everything at once. He felt as hollow as the sound of the water. What was left of him but an aphephobic cripple? Nothing, nothing. There was nothing.

Would it get better? Malik looked to his hands. He supposed it would, just as his sister had said. But he wasn't sure. He didn't know. When touch burned like fire and made him freeze up, when would it ever change? It wasn't as if Malik had anyone to impress. He didn't want anyone but his family in his life. Malik never wanted to get married. He didn't want to be touched, not by a woman or- by a man. So what did it matter apart from his own comfort level? Malik didn't know. He didn't really want to go outside, either. Even if he had before, all he wanted was the _knowledge_ that he _could._ But now that he was free, he didn't want to see people. It was his own choice, and that alone did not cage him.

The water was starting to feel cold. He had to get out, he had to get ready. It was important. Things would _change._ So he, once again, became a robot. He didn't think, he just stood and turned off the water. He didn't think, he just dried himself off and shook out his hair. He had gotten it cut short. Long hair reminded him of Mariku. He looked better this way, he thought, anyway. Malik remembered years ago when he had thought about getting it cut, before- Malik didn't think. Malik was a robot.

His room was cold and cool as he stepped into it, the temperature colder then the heated bathroom. He shivered slightly and pulled the towel tighter around himself. He had already picked his clothes for the day. They were laid out on his bed. Using his crutches, he moved to his bed where he sat down. It hurt to let go of his towel, but he did so anyway. After all, things were going to _change._ No more fear. Nothing was going to hurt him.

A suit. He had to look nice. He had to impress the judge. But for what reason? Malik knew what would be the outcome of the trial. Who did he have to impress? There would be only one person who noticed what he looked like.

…

The fabric of the white undershirt felt uncomfortable on his skin. His sister had ironed it so that it was unnaturally crisp. It slid across his skin and he shivered as he buttoned it up. He felt more secure the more layer of clothes he put on. First the shirt, then the pants, then the jacket. It was hard putting on clothes, at least, his pants. He grew frustrated. But he liked to be mad. It was better then being scared of depressed. Anger was something he knew and was used to since he was a child, having been hot headed. Fear and sadness were emotions that were forced upon him.

He stood and looked at himself in the mirror. The crutches ruined his image. He hated them. He hated his ankles and he hated his crutches and he hated having to wear the suit. It was okay, though, he didn't really mind. Hating was easy so he allowed himself it. He looked acceptable, though, and he supposed that was what all that counted. Still, there was something within him that hurt, other then hatred.

Remorse. Regret? He didn't know, but it was slightly nostalgic in value. Because this was it, right? This was real life, this was his home and his room, exactly as it had been when he was fifteen. It really _was_ over. He could pick his own actions and his own words and his own clothes and what he wanted to do. Malik could go outside. He take the elevator and go outside, to the city, to the air and not be caged. And most of all, he would be alone.

So, he had to move forward. This had to end. He had waited so long for his life to be back, begged for it, and here it was. He had to make the most of it. Adjusting his hold on his crutches, Malik opened his door and left his room.

The hallway smelled like something sweet. His sister had made pancakes. Malik smiled. It was sort of funny. Walking to the kitchen was difficult, but he made it. It was a small apartment, after all. He had been right, and his sister stood with her back turned to him, cleaning the dishes. His brother sat at the table, reading the newspaper. It seemed just so- perfect. The perfect family, the perfect life. On the outside. At least, until the camera zoomed over to the crippled boy standing in the door way. Rishid looked up at him.

"Your sister made you pancakes." He always gave such obvious, factual answers. Malik smiled a bit.

"I know."

Isis turned to look at him, and smiled, turning off the water in the sink. She wiped her hands on a towel and faced him.

"You look good, Malik. I think it suits you." It was a pretty bad pun, but Malik didn't care and just raised an eyebrow. She paused. "I made you breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"…Not really."

"Well you're going to eat anyway. I made it for you and you're going to have breakfast. I'm not going to let you go to the trial with an empty stomach."

Malik frowned, pretending to be a bit upset. But he didn't mind. He liked this. It made him feel so at home, like things were the same as they always had been.

"I'm not a kid anymore, I'm almost nineteen."

"I know, I'm just looking out for you. Now sit down and _eat_."

He faked a scowl, but did as he was told. She sat down next to him as he looked at the food that was presented before him. He really didn't feel hungry, but poked at the pancake anyway. It tasted good. She wasn't a superb cook, but it just tasted okay. Just fine.

It was quiet for a bit for his sister started to talk again. Rishid didn't say much, just nodded and agreed. He had to go back to school and finish high school. Isis said that she had learned about online programs, and that he could go to college, too, depending on the circumstances. He needed a job but they wouldn't push it. He wasn't quite ready to be outside that much at the point. Everything was moving forward. He was getting his life back.

Malik looked down at his empty plate, and then looked back up at his sister.

"…They're going to give him life, aren't they?"

Both his brother and sister seemed to freeze up a bit. They all felt the atmosphere, the questions that lingered, but had never really addressed them. It was a sensitive topic.

"Pr-Probably." Isis stuttered. It was uncharacteristic. She glanced over at Rishid. He looked back with his hard eyes.

"I wish he would die."

Malik looked away, not wanting to see how they looked at him. It was horrible, to wish death upon anybody, but Malik did. Just this one case, he did, and always had.

"We all do, Malik…"

After that, it was silent once again. Tension was high. They were all nervous, high strung. Malik breathed quietly as he waited for something to break the mood.

"I think we should go. We have to be there in an hour. I don't want to be late." His sister was the saving grace. Rishid agreed and stood, folding his newspaper that Malik knew he hadn't really been reading anyway, and setting it onto the table. He walked over to the coat closet. Malik hated this part.

He hated using the wheel chair. At least he was independent with the crutches. But out of the house, he was forced to use it. It was too far to walk. He was going to get an operation in the slight chance that his legs could be fixed, and was ordered not to strain them. Rishid wheeled it to him as his sister went to her room to get the keys to the car. He offered his hand out to Malik, but he refused it. Malik didn't want to be pathetic. He stood, using his crutches as support, and walked to the wheelchair himself. Sitting down, he gave his crutches to Rishid and waited for their sister.

Rishid stood silently next to him. He hadn't even really talked much. But right as he seemed about to say something, Isis came back into the kitchen.

"I thought we'd take the nicer car today, I couldn't find the keys." She gave him a reassuring smile, and they left the house.

--

The drive to the courthouse was long. In the city, it took a long time to get through lights. Malik liked it, though. He liked being around so many people, so long as a door and a glass window separated him from them. The city was full of life, and was dirty. It didn't have to hide itself behind the perfect cleanliness of suburbs. All of its problems were displayed fully on the streets. It was not enigmatic, and Malik loved it. This was home.

Eventually, though, they left the city for the outer belt and for the highway. It was a dull trip. The scenery, anyway. Inside, Malik's stomach churned. He hadn't seen Mariku in nine months. The trial had been delayed month after month, but Mariku couldn't pay his way out of it this time, he was trapped. Malik was glad. Now he could know what it felt like to be caged and terrified. But Malik doubted Mariku knew the true weight of what was going to happen. He was too fucked up to understand anything.

It would be hard seeing him. Malik knew that. He planned out how he would react in his head, but that was just mental simulation. Their lawyer said that he would not be allowed to speak to him or touch him or anything along those lines. It would still hurt to see him. Malik was scared.

He thought about the trial, about Mariku for a long while as he stared outside at the snow that rushed past the car window. It hurt bad, as always, as most things did. Because it felt so real. The thought of him was just so real. Mariku had overdosed him with his presence and touch. He would never forget about it.

Malik leaned his head against the window. Was it really Mariku's fault, though? His actions were his own, but Bakura had told him about Mariku's history. In some sick, twisted way, Malik felt sorry for him. Somebody in his life could have changed him, given him attention. But instead his parents left him, abandoned. Alone. It didn't make up for anything that he had done, but the world was not always just in black and white.

The hardly changing view of the highway drew to a close as they went on the exit ramp and entered an area more of the suburbs. Small shops and grassy lawns. A small town and small ideals. It was quiet, reserved, and such a harsh contrast to the concrete steps of the courthouse as they pulled into the parking lot next to it. Malik's heart beat fast.

Rishid put the car in park and turned the keys. The car went from rumbling to quiet as they stepped out and helped Malik into his wheelchair. The wind was cold against his face, but he hadn't wanted to take a coat. Too much trouble. So Malik shivered and sucked it up, wheeling himself to the door of the court room.

The turmoil inside of him reached an almost unbearable point as he waited for his brother and sister. He heard Isis's shoes behind him, and he looked up at Rishid who stood next to him. He looked down at him, cold, as always, but his eyes showed compassion and encouragement. It would be okay. It would all be okay. Isis opened the door for them, and with a deep breath, Malik wheeled himself inside.

It was warm and he was glad he had not taken a coat. The heat would have suffocated him. Inside, there were wooden walls and a light carpet. It was nice enough, though hard to move his wheelchair over. There were rooms to the side, and waiting near one of the doors, was their attorney, Mr. Morrison. He, too, looked nervous, and adjusted his tie when they came in.

"Ah, Ms. Ishtar." He greeted Isis first. He knew her better. "It's starting in fifteen minutes. I was wondering when you'd get here."

Isis smiled and shook his hand before moving behind Malik and placing her hands on the bars of the wheelchair behind him. He didn't like it when people did that. It made him feel suffocated, that they could move him, take him anywhere without his consent.

They talked for a while, about legal business, and Malik was left alone to deal with the pit of dread in his stomach. He felt sick.

_It's going to be fine, it's going to be fine. There's nothing to worry about, he can't hurt me…_

Malik jumped a bit when he felt his sister move her hands back onto the handlebars. He had been lost in thought. Malik wanted to be sick.

"It's time, Malik."

Her voice was reassuring, and he took in a shaky breath, nodding his head. He hadn't seen Mariku in so long. He never wanted to see him again, that was what Isis had promised him when she had saved him, but she lied…

The courtroom was almost completely full, a large turn out, and Malik hardly recognized any of them. They were probably people who knew Mariku. His heart felt like it was going to tear out of his chest and swallow him whole as it beat louder and louder. Malik then understood the fear the man in A Telltale Heart felt when he heard the heart beat increase in decibel. He kept his head down, watching the floor as he wheeled himself to the seat in front of the table that was designated for Mr. Morrison and him. His sister and brother took a seat back in the audience.

Malik didn't dare to look to the right side of the room.

"Five minutes, Malik." Mr. Morrison said, leaning over and whispering to him as he got his papers together and the jury filled. Malik nodded.

Watching them take their seats and the judge walk to the platform, Malik's nerves began to settle. This was… really it, wasn't it? It was all over. Mariku would be locked away forever, and Malik would finally, finally have his life back. The courtroom was no longer daunting. It gave him hope. It gave him optimism, and it gave him memories.

Because it really _was_ over, and Malik remembered all the things he would be leaving behind. Being stalked, Joshua's death, being kidnapped, being raped, being starved, being mutilated. And he would leave Mariku behind in his prison cell where he would never be allowed out again. Mariku would never hurt him. He would be safe, forever.

A bang, and Malik looked up as the judge slammed her gavel down onto the podium.

"I call this court to an open. Will the defendant please present their case." Her voice was loud, and it seemed to almost boom around the room.

Malik looked straight ahead, not to the right, not to the right, not to the right. He could see only out of the corner of his eye, Mariku's lawyer stand. He didn't listen to his defense. It disgusted him. Mariku didn't a free court trial. He didn't deserve the amendment that was given to him. He should be dead and pay for his crimes.

Eventually, Mariku's lawyer sat down, and Mr. Morrison was ordered to stand. He gave his opening, and Malik knew that they would win. It was plain and obvious. It was what he deserved. He deserved to be paid happiness for once in his life.

The case stretched on, and Malik's heart began beating fast again. Mariku's defendant was giving his case. He didn't want to hear what he thought was an excuse for the atrocities that Mariku committed. He felt so sick, so scared. He wanted to it to be over, and to go home. And he felt someone staring at him.

Staring, staring, staring. Malik knew, and Malik cried inside. He had to look forward, just look forward, and-

Malik turned his head, and Malik's heart stopped still. Mariku sat a bit reclined in his chair, and he looked directly at him. Their eyes met for the first time in nine months. It was as if every emotion Mariku had harbored since being pulled from him was being shoved upon Malik in a single look, and Malik was washed over with a feeling of guilt and terror. They both knew the outcome. Mariku would never live again. And although he hated him so much, wished him death above all else, Malik was guilty. It was some sort of sick Stockholm syndrome, and Mariku's eyes pulled him under. Malik was drowning.

His eyes didn't move away from his, didn't look at his body, but still, Malik felt naked. It felt like he was back in that horrid room and Mariku was touching him. Even not connected to him physically, Malik still felt as if he was a slave to him as he looked at him. Mariku's lips parted just a bit, and he whispered something. Malik knew what it was. Malik felt hopeless. The optimism was drained right out of him, and it was only Mariku and him. Mariku smiled and his eyes softened. Malik clenched his hands in his lap. Malik wore no clothes.

"Would the defendant please stand and give their defense?"

The bond was broken, and Malik held his breath, watching as Mariku's attorney sat down and he rose. Mariku wore a smile on his face. He stepped out in front of the judge and jury, with all eyes on him. And then, opening his mouth as if to talk, he turned around on the last moment and swung his arms open wide, and looked only to Malik.

"I have done nothing wrong. There is no excuse that I can ever give, for I have committed no crime. Love is the basis of humanity, and that's what this is. I would go to any lengths for you, anything you do to me. Even though you've hurt me so much and I can never forgive you for this, I will accept it. I will come out of this because this is only another test of my love. Nothing will separate you from me, not ever. I will always be there, even when you're alone. I did it out of love. This is my defense."

The courtroom was completely silent. Mariku continued to stare at him, a smile on his face as Malik looked back. He wavered, started to crack, and then- and then it stopped. There was no more fear. Malik was no longer afraid of him, as he stood in front of the court. He wouldn't win. Malik had won and Mariku was defeated. They were only words, no matter how sick or twisted. Malik looked back with strength. And Mariku sat down.

"Will the complaint please stand and give their testimony?"

In a way, it was holy judgment as Malik moved his numb arms and wheeled himself to the podium. He faced the crowd, and Mariku looked up at him. This was his chance to give himself justice. He blamed himself for everything that had ever happened, and now it was time to let it go. It wasn't his fault, and he would have to explain it. This was it. This was the end.

Malik's closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. When he opened his eyes, he felt the strength that he had missed for so long, and he spoke into the microphone in front of him.

This was his testimony, his story. And so he told it as such. He told the jury, the judge, his family, and the world what had happened to him. He told him about the letters that had been given to him, and glanced down as they lay upon the table for evidence. He told about the murder of Joshua, about being stalked. He told about being kidnapped and drugged. He told about the many days that he spent psychologically dying inside of that white, white room. He told about the way Mariku spoke to him, and about how Mariku touched him. He told about how he had been raped so many times. He told about his attempts at escape. And he told about how Mariku had broken his knees.

And then he paused. Because it was hard to remember. Again, he closed his eyes. Nobody said anything or told him to hurry up. They were all there for him. Nothing would happen. He was safe. Mariku could not touch him. Malik regained his strength.

"And- and then I don't remember much after he broke my knees. All I remember is being hollow. There was nothing left inside of me, after that. It was like I was dead as my body continued to live. I didn't resist any more, and I don't remember pain. I do remember fear, though. That was my constant companion…

He had called a special doctor, and paid him well to keep secrecy about me as he oversaw my recovery. It took a long while. The bones in my knees had been completely shattered, and because of it, something had gone wrong with the muscle and tissue- I don't remember the technicalities, but I got very sick. I very might have well been dead. I wouldn't have known. I didn't really think anymore.

He liked this, though. I was perfect to him, then. He still touched me even though I was so sick. But he didn't restrain himself anymore. What- what he did to me was s-sick, I don't- I don't really want to explain it. I didn't have any will or strength to fight, anyway. And what would have happened if I had? I couldn't walk, I couldn't run. I couldn't defend myself. I was literally his doll, then.

A couple of months went by like that with hardly any change. I was allowed to go outside, though… Because I couldn't walk or run. Ironic, how that is… After those months, though, he became increasingly more violent. He had always hurt me, but this was different. Since I was allowed around the house now, I didn't have to stay in my room, but he would get mad if he caught me out of it at the wrong time. They were always spontaneous times, and I could never guess them coming.

He would it me and kick me and- and tie things around my neck and get me to the point of near suffocation. I don't know why he did, and I blamed myself. I gained a bit of living back, then, but only in the form of depression. I later learned that it was because of Bakura. Their relationship was failing, and it was my fault, so he hurt me. Bakura wanted him to let me go, but he refused, of course, and they fought constantly.

It was violent fighting, too. It made me scared. Bakura was the only one who I had, then, even if he was still cold. I didn't know what to do, but I had given up on the night that I had been crippled, so I didn't dwell on it much. Two years had passed since then.

And then one day, everything changed. Mariku grew frantic and terrified and started trying to take as much things out of the house that he could. He had a gun with him, and was screaming at me to come with him. He wasn't thinking straight, since I couldn't walk. He told me that we were leaving, and that I would do exactly as he said. I was scared again, because this was something different. I hadn't seen Mariku truly scared before. Bakura was no where to be found.

He tried pulling me along the ground, but I was too heavy so he just carried me. I feared for my life. He wasn't sane, and he had a gun. He had made it all the way to the garage, but then Bakura was there, and Bakura blocked it. He told him that this was it, that the police would be there in a matter of minutes, and that Mariku had to give up. He told him that it was for the best, and it hurt him too much to stand to the side for years and years and watch him committee atrocities as he did nothing about it. He told him he loved him, that he always had, and he wouldn't let him kill me.

Mariku said nothing, and only punched him. Bakura swayed a bit and they were screaming again. Bakura had slit his tires.

And then, the police. They showed up without a warning, and told Mariku to freeze and put me down. He refused, and cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger, aiming for one of the policemen. He missed, though, and hit Bakura instead. Bakura died instantly. I remember the blood. I never thought that it pooled around the body, but it did. Right out of his neck.

Mariku was in shock, then, and he dropped me. That was when the police swarmed him and hand cuffed him. It's blurry, it happened all too fast that I don't really remember. I was in shock, and I didn't realize that I was safe. Even as he was forced into a police car and they let my sister who had come, see me, I wasn't mentally there. I wasn't for a long, long while. The last thing I remember was Mariku screaming for me as they took him away and left me behind. And that's it. That's the end."

Once again, the court room was silent. Malik felt nothing. He wasn't even numb. He was just- nothing. Everything left him. All the guilt. All the pain. All the fear. All the depression. He was left with what he had, what he had before he had been stalked. When Malik breathed, he breathed life.

Malik was slow as the judge gave him permission to wheel himself back to his table with Mr. Morrison. His face was blank, and he didn't look at his family.

"The jury will decide the fate of the defendant."

The courtroom filled with voices, talking, discussing the case, but Malik didn't listen to them. He heard nothing and felt nothing. Now Malik was numb with realization. He sat and stared blankly down at the table where his hands rested. He could see the scars on his wrists where he had been bound in the beginning, and where they had been agitated to become permanent so many times. But they no longer bound him. They only reminded him. Malik no longer hated them. All they were, were reminders of his own strength.

It took the jury only fifteen minutes to decide on an answer.

They filled the jury box quickly, and the judge took her place at the podium. Malik did not look back at his brother or sister for reassurance. He needed only himself. He was an adult. He was not a child. He had survived so much. He would lift his head up as he heard the most important words of his life.

Looking down at her papers, the judge paused only seconds before speaking with her loud voice.

"On the cases of two accounts of first degree murder, rape, kidnapping, and stalking, the court hereby sentences Mariku Tamar Ismail to: life in prison with no chance of parole."

Noise, noise, noise. So much noise, but Malik heard nothing, only those words repeated over and over in his head. People around him, his brother, his sister, crying and congratulating him. But he heard none of it.

He blinked. He looked up. His sister smiled at him. His brother smiled at him. Everybody smiled. Did he smile? Malik supposed he did. He was

Free.

He was

Released.

He was

No longer tethered to pain.

Malik did not speak, but he did smile, and he cried. It was all just finally, finally over.

And then he heard screaming. He looked around Rishid, and Mariku was being taken away, and he screamed to be released.

"LET GO, LET GO OF ME! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! HE NEEDS ME, HE NEEDS ME!"

They struggled to restrain him, and out of some miracle of Mariku's, and a tiny bit of fate spiting him, Mariku struggled out of their grip and ran to him.

He thought he was going to touch him, and Malik's heart stopped still in dread. No, no! They said he wouldn't be able to touch him!

"I won't leave you, Malik!" Mariku screamed, but his eyes were pleading and he was crying. He was caught again, but he screamed to him, only feet away. "I'll always be with you! Remember that! Every breath you take, every morning you wake up, I'll always be there! I won't ever leave you! You can't leave me, Malik! I love you!"

He screamed as he was dragged away. Malik's sister tried to console him.

"He can't, Malik, he can't. He's gone and he's not ever coming back."

But Malik knew. He had always known. He wasn't free. He would never be free. Mariku was right. Even though he was gone, he would always be there. He would always be his stalker, and his memories lived inside him, and his touch lingered. And so giving it all up, Malik came to acceptance. Malik hung his head into his hands and cried.

He would never be alone.

* * *

**End**


End file.
